


Bronze and Black: A Collection of D/N One-Shots

by Sivvus



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, The Immortals - Tamora Pierce, The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Arguing, Battle, Coming of Age, Extended Scene, F/M, Family, Fights, Flying, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Funny, Growing Up, Love, Magic, Missing Scene, Motherhood, One Shot, Protectiveness, Romance, Self-Reflection, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivvus/pseuds/Sivvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a keyword writing prompt: a collection of Daine/Numair stories! They skip around in time and range from fluff to angst to adventure to… well, to whatever the keywords suggest! Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Temptation"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Temptation" - Set just before Realms of the Gods

Kitten peered over the edge of the table, careful not to let her claws scrape against the wood. The furniture was already marked with thousands of scratches and scrapes, but the dragonet had found out to her annoyance that what was acceptable for a squirrel was considered very bad manners for herself!

She had sulked for days when Daine had scolded her for leaving a long scratch with her silver claws on the hearth stone. Her adopted mother let the dragon storm around, and then gently drew the cub into her lap and cuddled her. She explained in her soft, matter-of-fact way that squirrels were all very well and good, but that they weren't invited to balls and banquets like the little immortal. Kitten had to learn to behave herself, and set a good example for the others, not sulk like a little baby!

Kitten had whistled some half-felt apology, wriggled free, and after that she made more of an effort not to scratch at things. Sometimes when she was annoyed she would run her claws along the furniture just to be pert, but today she was not annoyed. Today she was curious. There was something very interesting on the table. Something that Kit didn't see very often. And Kit wasn't allowed anywhere near it, so of course she had to investigate!

She drew herself up towards it, carefully balancing herself with her tail as she climbed up into the chair and rested her chin on the edge of the table. There it was, still and silent in the empty room. Kitten breathed in deeply and sneezed at the thick scent that immediately flooded her nostrils.

"Kit? What are you doing?" The dragon peeped in surprise and jumped down, but not quickly enough. The speaker caught her easily. He lifted her up to eye height, which was a lot higher than the dragon's normal place in Daine's arms, and met her eyes seriously. "What are you doing, little mischief maker? I saw you prying!"

Kit whistled and wriggled, but Numair didn't let her go. Sighing, she dangled limply from the mage's arms and, defeated, pointed apologetically at the thing she'd been investigating. To her surprise, the human didn't tell her off, but shifted her weight in his arms and smiled.

"What do you think?" He asked, carrying the dragon closer to the table. "It's a surprise. Do you think she'll like it?"

Kitten whistled softly and stared. Seeing the thing from above was completely different from seeing it from the sides, or smelling it. From the sides it looked like nothing, like a ceramic bowl and some brown bread had been left here after breakfast and forgotten about. Kit had been able to see that from the floor, and she hadn't seen anything beautiful about it. But the smell... cinnamon, and raisins, and eggs and honey and other things the dragon couldn't name, all mixed together. It might look like bread, but it smelled like it came straight from the divine realms. The dragon had never guessed that, seen from above, the thing would be beautiful to look at as well.

"She said she didn't want a fuss. Not with the war, and all our friends off fighting." Numair said, almost to himself, but partly to the dragonet. "But it's still her birthday, and, you know..." he smiled at the immortal. "We humans don't get as many birthdays as you dragons, so we like to make a bit of an effort."

Kit snorted scornfully and wriggled enough that the man relented and put her down on the table. She padded closer to the cake, watching it with huge eyes as if the thing would jump up and bite her. She'd thought that the thing called cake was smaller, something that came in slices and already on a plate. That was how it was always served in the great hall when the dragon had been given it before. Those cakes were white and soft, served with whipped cream and fruit when it was in season. They tasted thick and sweet and rich, showing off the bounty of the king's table. This cake was different. It smelled spicy and dark and warm, as if it were made to be eaten next to a warm hearth while the snow howled outside. With her usual greedy curiosity the dragon was captivated. She reached out and carefully hooked a stray raisin off the edge of the plate, sniffing at it.

"It's from Galla." Numair explained, and Kit whistled enquiringly. He smiled, understanding her question with the causal ease that the dragon had always liked. "I asked one of the travelling merchants for the recipe for it. Daine mentioned it last year and I wondered if we would have the ingredients here in Tortall for it. Turns out we do."

Kitten made a dismissive gesture and turned back to the cake. She knew the man's habit of exaggerating very well, and whatever story he had for finding a simple recipe was going to be nowhere near as interesting as the actual cake itself! She sniffed at it cautiously, and then looked around. Her eyes widened pitifully at the human as her stomach rumbled loudly.

"No, Kit." He said, his voice stern enough that she knew he wasn't joking. He covered the cake with a cloth and carefully moved it from the table to a higher shelf that the dragon knew from numerous failed attempts was unreachable. She cooed in disappointment and jumped down from the table, and then squeaked and forgot her mood in an instant. Like an excited puppy, she bounded to the door and hurled herself at the girl who was coming through it.

"Hullo, Kit," Daine picked her up and cuddled her, her voice soft. "How has today been? Has he been looking after you? You've not been wearing yourself out, have you?"

"You left her here before dawn, and it's after dark now, Daine." Numair's voice was dry, and Kitten rumbled a rude response as he continued, "If she's working too hard, she's probably just copying you."

"Did she get a lecture, too?" Daine held the dragon closer for a moment, but she wasn't angry at being scolded – Kitten was confused to see the slight smile on her adopted mother's face. She certainly wouldn't be smiling! Numair pulled a face and opened one of the cupboards in the main room.

"I don't know which one of you would be less likely to listen to me! Have you eaten?"

"No – I was working. But I've finished now." Daine added quickly, putting the dragon down and helping him to find plates in the general chaos. "Today was the last day they needed me. I'm glad. I don't like doing that. I wish they wouldn't ask me."

"Why? What was it?" He asked as they sat down together and started portioning out food. Daine shrugged.

"They're training up the new recruits too quickly. As soon as they can fight without dropping their spears they're sent off against the immortals. They're doing the same thing with the ponies, so they have all these half-trained horses and skittish yearlings who are barely broken in, sent to scout in the forest, and… and they know it's going to get worse when they're sent away. They're terrified. There were a lot of accidents, and a fair few of them started bolting or rearing up. So I was asked to come and help. A lot of the knights think that there's some mystic magic I can cast to transform a trembling foal into a fearless war-horse. I can't do that. I wouldn't, even if I could."

"So what did you do?" Numair had stopped eating, and was watching his friend with sympathy. Daine shook her head.

"I just spoke to them, every single one of them. I told them what to expect, I asked them what they were afraid of, and I taught them how they could keep themselves as safe as possible. And I hated every second of it."

Kitten yawned loudly and tapped her claws against the floor, but neither of the humans seemed to hear her. She wondered if any of the castle mousers would be sleeping in Daine's room tonight. She liked teasing the strange, mangy cats almost as much as they liked cuddling up to the warm dragon's soft hide. Thinking about the cats only scared away the immortal's boredom for a moment, and then she stretched idly and looked up again.

Daine had put her food down, as if her ravenous hunger had completely vanished. She started tearing her bread into shreds with her fingernails. She didn't look up at Numair as she spoke, and her voice was bitter. "They don't have a choice, you know? The men- the soldiers they're training- they choose to enlist. They might have decided to make weapons, or farm the land, or become merchants, but they chose to be soldiers. The ponies never got a choice. They can't say, 'we're scared, we don't like fighting, we don't want to get hurt, we don't want to die', because who would hear them? I'm the only person who can listen to their fears, and even then I can't change anything for them. They can't leave and have another life. And I hate it."

Numair was silent for a long time, and then he sighed. "There are a lot of people fighting in this war who didn't have a choice."

Daine blinked at him for a second, and then looked away. "I know."

Kitten could normally follow the humans' conversation easily enough, but she was tired from keeping immortals away from the palace and so her mind flitted away too quickly to really care what they were talking about. She could tell that her mother was upset, though, and stopped making noise to nuzzle briefly against the girl's leg. Daine looked down and smiled, but her voice was a little distant when she said, "Kit, I'm covered in mud. Well… mostly mud. You'll get filthy."

The dragon made a dismissive sound and huffed away, feeling cheated. She knew that as soon as they were back in their own rooms her mother would cuddle her and talk to her and tenderly smooth dust from every single scale on her back, but not now. Not when she was speaking with Numair. Whenever they were together the two humans seemed to forget that there was anyone else in the world. Even wonderful, clever little dragons who could whistle locks open couldn't get a word in edgeways! Kitten huffed and sat down heavily, causing a small avalanche of the mage's papers.

Then she paused. Her nose twitched, and she looked up slowly. There, just edging over the end of the shelf, was a hanging piece of cloth. It smelled of spices, and eggs, and honey. It smelled wonderful. Kitten took a deep breath, losing herself in the scent for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed.

It was obvious. If the humans wouldn't notice her, then they wouldn't notice the cake disappearing. It would be the perfect crime. The perfect heist for the perfect cake.

The temptation was just too much. The dragon raised herself onto her hind legs, and then carefully pulled herself up the skirting board onto the table. Raising her snout enough so she could just see the edge of the cloth, she hummed a low, warbling note. The edge of the cloth waved a little, as if a breeze had drifted into the room, but nothing else happened. Kitten bleated out an annoyed noise and crouched back down, eyes narrowing as she plotted.

Numair stood up and moved to sit next to Daine, carefully taking her hands so she would stop tearing at her bread. "I wish you wouldn't upset yourself like this." He said, his voice soft. "You know you did everything you could. There's nothing else you can do for them, but I'm sure they'll fare better now that you've helped them understand. They wouldn't want you to worry about them – it won't help!"

She looked up for a moment and her mouth quirked in an odd smile. "Coming from you that's a little rich, Numair. You worry a lot."

"Only about you, magelet, and there is only one of you." He tweaked her nose playfully. "How many horses did you say there were?"

She flushed and looked away, and whatever playfulness had been in her eyes faded. "I wish you wouldn't worry about me, you know. Not if it upsets you like this."

He hesitated, and for a moment looked like he was going to say something. Then he stopped himself. Carefully not meeting her grey eyes, he said, "Sometimes I can't help it."

Daine looked up then, frowning, but before she could ask the question forming on her lips they were both startled by a loud crash. Kitten squawked and darted away between their feet to hide under the table, gibbering to herself as shards of broken crockery scattered across the floorboards. Daine gasped and covered her mouth, while Numair started laughing helplessly. He pointed at a crumpled mess lying near a shelf. Kitten and a few of the castle stray cats were already gathering around it with cautious, greedy curiosity.

"It's your cake!" Numair stood up, and his words were barely coherent as he started laughing in earnest. He began picking up pieces of the cake, warding off animals with a highly amused gesture. "For your birthday. I'm sorry."

"It's my birthday?" Daine bit her lip, and then burst out laughing too. She got up and knelt down to help him, letting the cats examine the worst damaged pieces. "You're right! How did I forget? And how did you remember? You don't even remember the month we're in, most days!"

"I resent that. I know for a fact that it's… oh." The man pulled a face, "I guess remembering your birthday made me forget that, then."

Daine smothered a giggle and then held out a hand, making her voice very stern. "Oh no, you. I see you trying to sneak off with that cake, Kit. Get back here."

A rude croak answered that order, although it was muffled slightly after travelling through a mouthful of raisins. Daine folded her arms and shook her head, her chin set in a stubborn line.

"No, Kit. You come back here and apologise to Numair right now for breaking his cake."

"It was your cake, technically." The man pointed out mildly, watching the dragon pantomime out a stubborn refusal and try to slink off behind a desk. Daine shot him a look filled with wicked humour, and then said out loud,

"He said he'll turn you into a tree, Kit. I'd get out here, if I were you!"

"One time I did that, Daine!" Numair couldn't stop himself from laughing at the speed that Kitten reached as she bolted towards her mother. The little dragon's eyes were wide with apologetic fear as she stared at the mage, and he tried to stop laughing. "It seems to be an effective deterrent."

"She respects magic." Daine looked at the dragon sternly and then put her down on the floor. "Well, Kit?"

The dragon cooed something contrite, and then gulped and made the same noise again, louder. She looked anxiously up, and exhaled in a relieved sigh when the man smiled at her. He held out a hand and she solemnly placed one paw into it.

"Thank you for apologising, mischief." He told her seriously. "Will you apologise to your mother, too? You spoiled her birthday present."

Kitten narrowed her eyes, and peered at the pile of crumbs that had been gathered. Concentrating, she raised her hackles and hissed softly at the cake. Silvery magic glittered around some of the crumbs for a moment, and then with a sudden loud clap and a burst of light the crumbs flew together and fused. When their eyes cleared there was a cake where the crumbs had been- misshapen, burned now in odd places and crumbling away on one side, but definitely a cake.

"I won't ask where you learned that," Daine whispered confidingly to the dragon. The girl tickled Kitten under the chin affectionately, smiling when the little immortal cooed and tilted her head back. "Thank you."

The dragon bowed her head, gracefully acknowledging the gratitude of these mortals for the impressive gift of dragon magic, and then picked up the chunk of cake she'd been dragging away and carried it, with dignity, into the next room. One of the cats mewed loudly after her, and then sauntered over to the repaired cake with feline nonchalance. Purring loudly, the creature took a great bite of the cake. It paused, eyes widening, and then wailed loudly.

"It's like a nursery in here," Numair muttered wryly, sweeping the last of the fallen crumbs away into the hearth. Daine ignored him, holding her hands out to the cat and speaking silently to it. It writhed dramatically in her arms, and then dropped away and sped after Kitten with murder in its gaze.

"So, uhm… the cake." Daine started, and tried to hide a smile as she looked up at her friend. "I don't think you're going to like this. Kitten's magic is… er…" she picked up the cake. It took her both hands, and she gasped a little as she lifted it.

"She turned it into stone?" Numair started laughing again, leaning against the hearth. Daine laughed with him, turning the mass around slowly and examining the paralysed raisins.

"And she was so proud of herself!"

"Proud? I bet she did it on purpose. You will note that _her_ piece of cake was unharmed!"

"Well," Daine said, carefully putting the heavy mass down on the table, which creaked, "I guess it's a gift I'll remember forever. Or, at least, I'll keep it forever. Imagine how hurt she'll be if I ever get rid of it!"

"Get rid of it? We could fire it from a siege catapult and the enemy would open the portcullis to give it back!"

"Sounds like a good strategy to me." Daine smiled and walked over to Numair so she could hug him. Surprised, he hugged her back, and she rested her head against his chest for a moment. "Thank you for my present, Numair. Even if it wasn't what you planned, I love it."

He stroked her hair gently, feeling the tension in her shoulders fading as she cuddled closer. He held her silently for a long time, wishing that he could stop everything that worried her from reaching her. He missed these moments, when the world was quiet and the war seemed very far away. He wanted to tell her so, but something stopped him. Some feeling that if he started speaking, he would tell her everything. That he would say the wrong thing and she would turn away from him, and this innocent peace would vanish. He thought all of these things as he held her gently in his arms, listening to the sleepy sigh of her breathing, and all he could say was, "I'm glad. It's good to see you smile, sweetling."


	2. "Argue"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Argue” – Set just before the start of Emperor Mage

Daine heard the noise through the black blur of sleep, and mentally groaned. She desperately wanted to crawl back inside her dream and fall asleep, but the harsh inhalation made her skin crawl. It sounded like one of the animals was gasping for breath, and she had to help them as soon as possible. Still, she couldn’t will herself to wake up. 

_Odds bobs! Being tired is better than letting someone choke to death, girl!_ She told herself sternly, and wrenched her eyes open. 

It wasn’t an animal. The creature looking at her with narrowed brown eyes stood on two paws, not four, and wore an all-too-human glare. Daine muttered a curse and rolled over. Even if she had a nightmare, she thought stubbornly, it would be better than having to talk to that… that woman. 

The noise happened again, an infuriated sniff, and Daine rolled onto her back to glare at the intruder. “What?” she croaked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. The lady glared back. 

“What are you doing?” Infalda demanded, keeping her voice low. Daine blinked, wondering what she’d done now. The woman had criticised her for every sin, from letting the animals bark too loudly, to feeding the castle cats plates of meat that wasn’t greening. The woman was older than her, a lady-in-waiting to one of the duchesses whose names Daine could never remember, and the girl was supposed to act respectfully around her. Still, it was difficult to keep calm and polite when the woman was constantly yelling! 

“Why’re you in my room?” She asked groggily, sitting up. Then she caught sight of the woman’s scornful look, and glanced around her. “Ah,” she realised, and ran a hand through her curls awkwardly. “I’m not in my room.”

“No,” the woman started, and drew a breath to say something else when the door clicked open. Both of them looked up. It was rather disconcerting for Numair, who stepped through the door to be met by two bright-eyed gazes. He stared at Infalda for a long moment, looking rather nonplussed, before shutting the door gently behind him. 

“Oh,” he said, recovering himself. “Daine, you’re awake!”

“Why is she here, darling?” As always, Infalda’s voice was sweeter than honey when she spoke to her lover, but she couldn’t hide the irritation in her voice at Daine being greeted first. Numair missed it, though, with his usual careless obliviousness, and put down the book he was carrying carefully on the table. 

“She fell asleep reading last night, Inni.” He explained lightly, and turned a guileless smile towards the girl. “I didn’t want to wake you up, magelet. I know how hard Thayet’s had you working, getting ready for Carthak. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, why would…” Daine started, and winced when the lady shot her a dark look. 

“Well, I mind. People talk, you know!”

“People like you?” The girl retorted snidely. Infalda raised her chin and ignored her, so Daine kept speaking, just to take a jab at the snooty hag. Her voice was halfway between playful and vengeful. “It was a nice thing he did, and I’m fair grateful. I mean, even if he does always steal the blankets…”

“Daine…” Numair started, a warning note in his voice as he glanced at Infalda, who had gone quite pink. The girl shrugged and ignored him. 

“You… you slept here, with her? And… always? This happens a lot?” The woman demanded, rounding on Numair. The mage held up his hands in what was meant to be a placatory gesture, actually taking a step backwards. 

“Daine,” he said, almost laughing in frustration at the stupidity of the situation, “I am going to kill you for this.”

“No you won’t.” She said placidly. “Inni, my dearest loveliest one… of course he slept here. It’s his bed, you idiot. Where else would he go? I mean, he’s obviously bored with you, or else you’d know exactly where he was last night, wouldn’t you?” 

Infalda blinked, and her pink skin turned to a blotchy white. Numair shot Daine another black look, but she could tell that she had guessed right. She sighed with something close to relief and rubbed sleep from her eyes. Well, I’ve said this much, she thought, I guess this will be my last chance to say anything else. Numair’s only letting me speak because it’s the first time I’ve ever… ever fought with one of his women. He looks so stunned! 

“You little cow.” Infalda said poisonously, “How dare you speak to me like that?”

Daine grinned. “Thank you! Now I don’t need to explain how you talk to me when you think no-one’s watching.” 

Infalda blinked and looked around. In her anger she’d obviously forgotten that there was anyone else in the room. She drew a breath, meeting Numair’s glare, and started to speak. 

The scene was not pleasant. 

Afterwards, Daine expected Numair to come back into the room in a black mood, or to storm away and disappear into the library for a few hours until his quick temper calmed down. Instead, to her surprise, the man walked slowly back into his room and shut the door behind him, looking thoughtful. When she cleared her throat he looked up, losing his train of thought, and sat down next to her on the bed. Daine mentally shrugged and combed her hair through with her fingers, knowing that when he was thinking that deeply the words would emerge at their own pace, or not at all. 

“Daine,” he asked in an unusually hesitant voice, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She flicked her eyes up at him and then shrugged off the concern. “It’s happened before. I just haven’t… wouldn’t normally… she started it!” The words became defensive as she struggled to understand his odd smile. “If your girlfriends yell at me, Numair, I’m cussed well going to yell back.” 

He smiled and ruffled her hair. “I know you can fight your corner, magelet. I’m not angry that you yelled at her. I’m just confused as to why you had to in the first place. Have you two been arguing with each other? I mean, I didn’t think you and Infalda had much in common.” 

“Apart from you, you mean?” The girl was amused enough at the bewildered expression on his face to make her suggestion easier to say: “Numair, if I fall asleep here again you should probably wake me up. She’s right, you know. People do talk. She’s not the first one to get jealous of you, honestly, and knowing you she won’t be the last.”

He scowled and waved a hand – the same gesture he made when anyone brought up this conversation. “It’s none of their business. We know there’s nothing like that going on, and so do all our friends. You never upset any of the other ladies, anyway. Infalda was an exception. Perhaps someone is spreading rumours, but it’ll die down quickly enough.”

“Odds bobs, Numair.” Daine shook her curls irritably and stood up, planting her hands on her hips. “You want to know what’s changed? _I_ have. Your ladies can see that I’m not a little girl any more, even if you can’t. That’s what’s making them hate me, not some rumours and not Infalda being any worse. Don’t make it into some grand conspiracy when all I’m trying to say is that it’s fair improper for me to be sharing a bed with you!” 

He went a deep red, and looked at his feet. “Your accent gets thicker when you’re annoyed.” He muttered. 

“Oh, bother my accent.” She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. Numair didn’t watch her go – he was used enough to her dramatic exits even to be able to anticipate how loudly the door would crash behind her. He knew that she would calm down soon enough and mutter some half-formed apology at lunch with her unique blend of guilt and stubbornness. He sighed and linked his hands behind his head, leaning back and thinking that this time it was him who should apologise. The problem with that, though, was that he would have to work out exactly what to admit before he apologised for it. 

The problem, as he navigated it in his racing academic manner, was that Daine was not only correct, she was pointing out something that he had been aware of for quite some time. Perhaps he should act like it was a revelation to him that his little magelet had grown up into a young woman, but he doubted he could be sincere in that. 

Besides, he thought, he hadn’t really thought of her as a child when she was a child. She was just a Daine, the same as she was now. Her sense of wonder at the world and eagerness to learn all she could of it weren’t childish traits others might have expected to fade, but a part of who she was. Growing up, as far as Numair ever thought about Daine in those terms, generally involved how she had gotten a little taller. 

Recently, though, that mindset had failed him. Numair was aware that he was becoming more… what was the right word for it? He frowned and tugged at his nose, mentally sorting through synonyms. Nervous was too twitchy, and scared was too strong, but the word belonged somewhere in the middle. He had known she was changing, but he had been dreading the day when she realised that. When she noticed the way that the stable boys were watching her and understood it, or worse – Numair forced himself to finish the line of thought – when she looked at them in the same way.

It would drive a wall between them, he thought, and he didn’t want that. And he couldn’t really talk to anyone about it, because he didn’t know how to explain the complicated mixture of feelings that coloured the thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to find someone and be happy, it was just that he knew he would be jealous, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He was as close to her as a father or a brother, but he was neither of those things, not really. He was her friend. Friends had no right to get as protective as he did. 

The Daine who fell asleep without a moment’s hesitation in his rooms was like a daughter or a sister: completely relaxed around him and utterly unconcerned about proprietary, because such concerns had nothing to do with the way things were between them. If she was worried now then that version of her would soon be swept away, and both of them would have to decide what they actually were to one another. It wouldn’t be enough to be just themselves, because the outside world wouldn’t accept that answer. 

The fact that the real world – no, he corrected the phrase in his head – the fact that the gossips were starting to encroach on their uncomplicated friendship hurt him. But he had always known that, eventually, that would happen. 

“She has to grow up sooner or later, dolt.” The mage muttered to himself, and stared up at the ceiling with a self-depreciating grin. “Unless you really thought in ten years she’d be married and yet still somehow this close to her old teacher. That would just be…” he pulled a face and used the girl’s own turn of phrase, “…fair foolish, wouldn’t it?” 

For some reason the vague thought of her getting married made his head hurt. He rolled onto his side and wished the blankets didn’t still carry her scent.


	3. "Embarrassed"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Wolf-Speaker. 
> 
> Kitten wouldn’t normally get involved in an argument between the two humans she thought of as her adoptive parents, but this time she had to take sides. The man had upset her mother, and Kitten was furious. No-one upset her mother.   
> She ran a claw down the runes. It was a spell. A very interesting spell. She whistled, and this time there was a note of smugness in the musical sound. Kitten had a plan.

“Kitten, this really is the last straw!” The man bellowed, and amid the clatter of falling books, plates and papers there was a shriek. Anyone watching the doorway of the Black Mage’s study would have seen a small streak of scaled skin darting by as a tiny dragon fled for her life. 

There was still a piece of paper stuck to her hind food. Kitten shook it as she ran but it didn’t fall off. She muttered to herself and kept running, heading for one of the bolt-holes the castle cats had shown her. It wasn’t until she got there and was safely tucked away behind the ancient, heavy tapestry that hid it that she stopped to catch her breath. 

The man had followed her, but he couldn’t see the small lump of dragon behind the loudly patterned cloth. Kitten could hear him breathing heavily, angrily muttering to himself. Then she heard a second lot of footsteps – lighter, less angry – and the dragon shivered. She was ashamed now, not because she felt any remorse for disturbing the boring man’s spell, but because her mother had found out. 

“She knocked over a construct.” The man didn’t even greet the woman, he just snapped out the words. “She did it deliberately. Reached out and pulled out the leg of a tripod. That was five hours of work!” 

There was a long silence, and then a softer voice said, “I’ll find her.” Kitten felt the odd drawing sensation as her mother gathered her magic and sent it out around the castle. She rolled her eyes – now she’d have to avoid every cat, mouse and sparrow in the entire keep if she wanted to stay hidden. 

“I can’t believe she would do that. Not that she would mess up a spell- gods know she’s done that often enough, but why do it on purpose? What a petty, spiteful, _mean_ thing…”

“She’s just a baby.” The woman’s voice was stating a fact, not defending her ward, and Kitten imagined her shrugging. “All babies have their smash-everything stage.”

“Well, it’s high time she grew out of it.” The man’s voice was dark, and the dragon shuddered. “Don’t make excuses for her, Daine. I’m sick of the way she’s been acting since we got back from Dunlath. I used to be able to lock her out of my room, but now she treats it like it’s her own personal playground. You haven’t stopped her – are you even _trying?_ You’re supposed to be watching her, not letting her run wild! She’s been spying on everybody, whistling spells at people for no good reason, and causing chaos. It has to stop! If you won’t do something then I cursed well will.” 

“Don’t tell me how to raise her.” Daine’s voice was hurt, mulish. “I said I’d find her.” 

“Make sure you do.” He retorted, and then stormed out of the room. 

There was a short silence, and Kitten pricked her ears up to hear the muffled sound of angry breathing through the thick tapestry cloth. The dragon jumped when Daine abruptly muttered to herself, thinking she’d been discovered, but the tearful words weren’t directed at the immortal. 

“Numair Salmalin, sometimes you are a _mule-headed-pig.”_

And with what was possibly the rudest thing she had ever said out loud about her teacher, the girl stormed from the room.   
Kitten scowled and clawed at the back of the tapestry, tearing lines in the thick wool. She wouldn’t normally get involved in an argument between the two humans she thought of as her adoptive parents, but this time she had to take sides. The man had upset her mother, and Kitten was furious. _No-one_ upset her mother. Ignoring the fact that her own behaviour had triggered their argument, Kitten squawked to herself and ripped viciously at the tapestry again, gouging out a chunk of some knight’s thigh. 

The action made something else flutter in the dim light, and Kitten sniffed at it. It was paper – dusty, inky paper. Of course – the scrap that had stuck to her leg when she’d knocked over the shiny glass spell that made such an amazing smashing sound! She cooed at it and picked up the paper to read in the light of the main room. 

Slowly, arduously, she ran a claw down the runes and scribbled notes in Common. It was a spell. A very _interesting_ spell. She whistled, and this time there was a note of smugness in the musical sound. Kitten had a _plan._

She had to wait until dinnertime before she could put it into action, which meant that the dragonet had a very long day of hiding in boring places from all of the castle animals. She felt quite guilty when she caught a glimpse of her mother as Daine walked into the dining hall. The girl looked almost desperately worried, and stared into every dark corner as if expecting to see the little immortal peering back at her. Kitten shrank back behind the sconce she was clinging to. Most people didn’t think to look up when they were searching, including the animals. The only other inhabitants of the rafters were the cats, who were perverse enough not to run straight to the wildmage as soon as they saw the dragon. 

Well, no matter if she felt bad now. It would pass. After all, Kitten was acting nobly on her mother’s behalf, protecting her from the villainous foe…! Or however those pages always put it when they told each other stories. Kitten cocked her head at a jaunty angle and ran nimbly along the timber rafters. 

Daine had started knotting pieces of wool recently. It had raised a few eyebrows amongst the court, who had never seen the activity as anything other than a rustic handicraft. The girl was actually very good at it, fashioning intricately knotted bracelets from leftover scraps. She did it more when she was anxious. Today as she sat down she was already pulling a half-finished loop from her belt-purse and fiddling with the spiral of knots on it. She hadn’t sat near Numair, Kitten saw, and her friends from the riders came and sat with her after a time. Daine smiled at Miri and pushed her knot work to one side so she could eat, but didn’t join in with her friends’ light-hearted banter. After a while they made their farewells and left, but Daine stayed. She braided the wool without really noticing it, eyes busy with looking around the room for her ward. 

Kitten cooed softly down to her mother, but didn’t climb down from the rafters just yet. There was one more thing she had to do first… aha! She spotted Numair, his head and shoulders looming over everyone else as he made his way to another seat. He wasn’t intentionally choosing where he sat. He was so wrapped up in whatever line of thought he had in his head that he was oblivious to his whereabouts. He probably hadn’t even realised Daine was upset, Kitten thought angrily. She climbed over the rafters towards him and perched above his head, stretching her long neck downwards to get as close as possible.

He was scribbling on a piece of paper. Kitten leaned closer, and a shadow of her head fell across his writing. He looked up, frowning, and the dragon panicked. Taking a deep breath, she whistled and croaked at high speed. The complicated spell she had read earlier was different in dragon magic, but she felt the reassuring surge of silver magic as she finished the spell and chuckled darkly.

“What are you…?” Numair stared up at the immortal and then blanched and looked at his hands. His eyes widened. “Kit…!”   
His hands were turning green. Odd spider-web strands oozed across his fingers, and when he tried to flex them outwards the webbing clung to him like skin. He was so intent on staring at his hands that he didn’t realise he was shrinking until the table loomed above his head, and then he opened his mouth to shout for help. 

“Crrrr-oooooak!” The Black Mage managed, and then wriggled in the loose pile of his clothes. Webbed feet emerged, and the mage hopped fitfully away from the clinging cloth. He looked up balefully. 

“Ribbit?” said Numair-the-Frog. 

Kitten sniggered, and then turned to climb down. She heard a few people talking, laughing, gasping – some members of the court had obviously seen Tortall’s most powerful mage turning into a frog before their very eyes. They watched him eagerly, waiting for him to turn back into a human. The frog ribbited a few times. Then he sheepishly hopped down from the chair and snuck under the table. 

Daine had almost finished her meal when she felt something touching her foot. Most people would have instinctively kicked the small weight away, but she was so used to small animals attaching themselves to her that her first instinct was to reach down and pick up the creature. It was a frog. She raised it to her eyes, frowning in confusion. 

“Why are you inside the castle, little frog?” She asked softly, “Is something wrong?” 

The frog didn’t answer, and she put it down carefully beside her plate. “You shouldn’t walk on the floor, you know. The dogs might get you.”

The frog blinked, large wet eyes moving balefully around the room, and then looked straight at her again. Daine rested her chin on her hand. 

“You have to speak if you want my help,” she said. “I can understand you. What do you want?”

The frog croaked, and then made a dramatic, almost exasperated movement with one webbed hand and turned away. Daine sighed and took another mouthful of food. Sometimes animals didn’t speak to her straight away. She was, after all, a human. She wondered how much of her life she spent waiting for the People to decide she wasn’t a threat. She was just reaching for her water when she felt yet another weight on her foot, and couldn’t help rolling her eyes. 

“I’m not a pond, you know…” She looked down, and her face split into a wide grin. “Kit!” 

The dragon preened smugly and raised her paws, wanting to be cuddled. Daine picked her up easily, tears shining in her eyes as she held the little immortal close. “I was so worried, you little terror! Where have you been?” 

Kitten made an odd noise and waved her tail, jabbering away at high speed in her own unique language. She was clearly trying to explain. Daine blinked at her for a moment and then shook her head. It seemed that today was the day where no-one made any sense. 

“I’m sorry, Kit. I don’t know what you’re telling me.” She explained, and handed the dragonet a chunk of bread. Her hand brushed against the frog as she reached back from the platter, and the tiny amphibian ribbeted at her loudly and persistently. She scowled at it, starting to get irritated, and shifted the dragon in her lap. 

“Kit,” she said more seriously, “Tell me the truth. Were you hiding from Numair all day?” 

The dragon hesitated, and then nodded.

“Why?” Daine glanced around the room, but couldn’t see the mage anywhere. Even so, she lowered her voice. “It’s not the first time you’ve upset him, and you know how he forgets that he’s angry quick enough. You never hid for so long before.” 

Kitten gestured back towards the room where she had been hiding, and mimed out the argument she had seen. She ended with a brief, sympathetic pantomime of her mother being upset, and then her teeth appeared in a growl. Daine’s eyes widened. 

“You saw that?” She breathed, and then let the air out in a whoosh. The dragon nuzzled against her cheek sympathetically, and the girl tried to reassure her. “Kit, I… no, I’m fine. I was just upset, that’s all.” 

Kitten eyeballed her, and then made the noise that always referred to Numair and bared her teeth again. Behind her, unnoticed, the frog suddenly looked very still. 

“No, he wasn’t _trying_ to upset me.” Daine answered, and there was some stubborn patience in her voice when she carried on, as if this was something she’d told the dragon many times. “He won’t’ve realised that he said anything hurtful. He’s all mixed up in his work at the moment so… so we just don’t matter as much. He didn’t really mean what he said to me. He was just upset that you broke his spell.” 

The dragon made a rude noise and shifted, deliberately digging her paws into the bony parts of the girl’s lap. Daine stopped her, and her hands were a little tighter than they might have been normally. 

“Don’t be so self-righteous, Kit. It _was_ your fault, after all.” Her lips quirked in an odd smile at the dragon’s expression, and she tilted her head to one side. “And… he was right, wasn’t he? I mean: you _did_ do it on purpose, didn’t you?” 

Kitten peeped once, and nodded shamefacedly. The girl choked back a laugh, and then looked up guiltily around the room again. There was an almost-sad note in her laugh. She nodded her understanding and tapped the dragon’s nose. “He has been busy for a long time, hasn’t he? I know you miss him, dearest, but breaking his constructs won’t make him finish any quicker. Best to just let him get on with it, hm?” 

The dragon shrugged, and then nodded in a solemn promise. Then her eyes widened in sudden guilt and she looked around frantically. 

“Mistress Sarrasri!” A page ran up to them, almost breathless, and then stopped with a relieved whoosh of air when he looked at the table. “Oh, you did find him! Thank the gods, we were starting to think the dogs had caught him!” 

“Him?” Daine blinked at the boy, and then followed his gaze to the frog. She bit her lip and looked up. “The… the frog?” 

“Master Salmalin!” The page blustered, and didn’t notice her blanch in his own panic. “He turned into the frog and everyone thought it was his spell, but when he didn’t reappear we suddenly thought… what if someone else…” he gulped and suddenly spun around, backing away at high speed with a final cry of, "Do you think it's catching?" 

“Numair?” Daine picked up the frog gingerly. “Is… that you?” 

The creature croaked indignantly, but for some reason a lot of its previous fury seemed to have faded. He refused to meet her eyes. Daine narrowed her eyes and looked at him through her gift, seeing the tell-tale silver glint of dragon magic. 

“Kit…” she growled, glaring down at the dragon. Kitten tried to look nonchalant as she hopped off her mother’s lap, but she barely got a few bounds away before the girl grabbed her tail with her free hand and held her still. Her grey eyes were furious. “You fix this, Kit, _right now!”_

The dragon made an entreating noise, and then her eyes went huge and pleading. Daine sat down cross-legged on the floor-rushes beside her and shook her head, still holding tightly to the dragon’s tail. 

“No. I’m not listening. We’ll stay right here until you fix it. And if you ever, ever turn anyone into a frog again I swear I will take you back to the cave where I found you and leave you there.” 

Kitten made a rude sound, clearly knowing it was a bluff, and folded her head onto her arms obstinately. 

Daine switched her attention to the frog and smiled wanly. “We may be here for a fair while, Numair. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t understand you. I mean, I can’t when you’re a bird either, so… so I guess being shaped like that doesn’t mean you’re really a frog. So that’s… that’s something, I guess.” Her lips quirked in a smile, and before she could take another breath she was laughing, giggling hysterically at the look of absolute dejection on the frog’s face and the memory of its dramatic gestures when it tried to communicate. 

“I’m sorry!” She gasped, trying to catch her breath. “But… you got turned into a frog!” and she was off again, in peals of ridiculous laughter. 

Kitten looked around, her eyes widening in confusion, and then she seemed to come to a decision. Whistling a few short, tuneless notes, she waved a paw and silver magic leeched into the air. There was a sound like someone gasping in breath before a sneeze, and suddenly the frog was growing. Daine put him down quickly, averting her eyes until he was quite human again. Then she looked around. She had to look away quite quickly: Numair was staring at his hands in stunned silence, and the girl saw exactly what was wrong. 

“Uhm, Kit?” She said, another giggle leaping to her lips. “He’s still… green.” 

The dragon shrugged, and mimed scrubbing at her scales. Apparently the green would wash off. 

“I hope you’re right,” Daine told her, and then let her go. She expected the dragon to dart away again, as she usually did when she was in trouble, but instead the little immortal stood her ground. She raised her head cautiously and then, shamefacedly, she bowed and whistled a heartfelt apology to Numair. 

“No.” He shook his head, and then smiled crookedly at the dragon’s look of tearful pleading. “I meant, no: don’t apologise. I think… I think I might have deserved that one.” He reached out and touched Kitten’s head gently. “Let’s say this makes us even, alright?”

Kit tilted her head to one side for a moment, suspicious of a trick, and then realised he was sincere. She peeped a delighted noise and jumped into his lap, nuzzling against him affectionately. Numair smiled at her, but he still couldn’t look up and meet Daine’s eyes. 

“That was well done, magelet.” He finally managed, not looking up. “I don’t know if I could have coaxed her to change me back. I… I was wrong to say what I did to you today.” He grinned suddenly, seeing the ridiculous humour in the situation, and looked up. “Not only are you a good mother, you have a daughter who has a most bizarre way of proving it to stubborn old mages like me!” 

“She still shouldn’t have done it, though.” Daine answered, looking a little frazzled now that her laughter had passed. “You’ll have no pudding for the next week, Kit. And don’t make that noise!” She stood up and brushed rushes from her breeches, ignoring the dragon’s anguished wail. “You’re being punished. It’s just plain rude to turn people into frogs. And to listen in on people’s conversations, Numair! And… and just… all of it! You two are welcome to each other.” 

Numair grinned at the dragon when the girl angrily strode away, seeing the creature narrowing her eyes speculatively after her mother.

“I wouldn’t bother, Kit.” He muttered, “She’d be able to turn herself back into a human.”


	4. "Cub"

Jon found Numair in the shadows of the corridor in the castle. The mage was leaning against the wall outside of his and Daine’s rooms, his long legs spread halfway across the floor, head resting back against the stones. When the other man walked up to him Numair’s eyes opened, and even in the torchlight Jon could see the dark shadows that ringed them. 

“You’re looking well,” The king said, settling himself beside his friend. Normally such a blithe comment would have prompted a glare, but Numair barely reacted. Jon pressed on: “How is Daine?”

“Sleeping, thank the gods.” Numair’s voice was hoarse, and he ran a hand fitfully through his hair. “I think that midwife gave her something. Poppy, or… or… oh, I don’t know. Gods know how long it’ll last.”

“Long enough,” Jon tried to make his voice sound reassuring, which did win him a glare. 

“It’s been _days_ , Jon. And even before _that_ she couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours without having to use her magic. Do you have any notion of…” 

“So you haven’t slept either,” The other man interrupted mid-tirade. Numair started, and then laughed hollowly. 

“How can I? They said I should try, but how can I when she…? I couldn’t stay in there. I had to come outside. I had to… to think.” 

“And then they sent a messenger for me.” Jon finished. “You think rather dramatically, it seems.” 

Numair looked up, surprised out of his mood for a moment, and followed the king’s line of sight to look down at his hands. Odd colours played across them as if he had coated them in oil. Now that he was aware of it he could feel the odd stillness in the air, too, as if everything were holding its breath. Any magic that had breathed in the still air was gone, drawn into his gift and waiting to be released. He clenched and unclenched a fist, watching the colours for a second. 

“Oh.” He eventually said, and his ears reddened in embarrassment. “I didn’t realise I was doing that.” 

Jon laughed. “Are you joking? I could feel it plain across the city, and I wasn’t trying to use my magic at all. Before the messenger found me I knew something was wrong. Oh, not wrong,” he interrupted the mage’s answer with the smooth diplomacy of a lifelong royal, “But… shall we say _unusual?”_

Numair rubbed his knuckles awkwardly with his opposite hand, slowly relaxing his fist back into an open palm. Some of the trapped magic sighed back into the frozen air, and Jon felt the goose-flesh on the back of his neck settle a little. 

“I guess I thought Daine might need it,” Numair said sheepishly. 

“All the magic in the world – or in my city, come to think of it – couldn’t make a baby come any faster than what the gods have planned.” Jon sighed, and nodded out of the window towards the stables. They could both see the distant shapes of the Riders grappling with their ponies, who were planting their hooves obstinately into the ground. “Not your magic, and not whatever Daine’s causing those horses to do, either. Nothing. When Thayet was having Roald I ordered almost every healer I could think of to help. In the end she yelled at me and I realised I might be overreacting… just a little. But even if it was a bad idea I felt better for doing it, when there wasn’t much else I could do apart from wait.” 

“But that’s exactly it!” The other man exclaimed. “They know what needs doing. I don’t know what… what will help, or what Daine needs, or what she’s going through. And you know she’s not going to ask for my help, she’s far too stubborn for that. And she knows what she’s doing. I don’t know what to do, and I just feel so useless.” 

“You think Daine knows what she’s doing?” Jon sounded almost amazed. “Numair, she’s probably as lost as you are. Even without the whole shapeshifting thing, I mean.” 

“Her mother’s a midwife.” Numair answered drily. “I hear that Sarra’s quite well respected these days.”

“Still, that’s her mother, not Daine. I expect next you’ll point out to me that your wife spends a lot of time delivering foals. Well, that’s not the same thing either. Gods bless it, can we skip this part where you look down your nose at me and get to the part where you admit that I’m right?” 

Numair didn’t answer, so Jon took a deep breath and tried again. He was genuinely curious about the answer to the question, although he phrased it quite playfully. “Do you think your baby will be born as a human, or as an animal?”

That did win him a glare. “I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it.” 

“Fine, then how about this – do you think that they’ll have grey eyes, or black?”

“I don’t…”

“Or how about – will it be a boy or a girl? Surely, if Daine knows everything, then she must have told you _that_.” 

“I don’t… look, I know what you’re doing, Jon. You’re about as subtle as a brick.” 

“I’ll have you know I’m celebrated for my diplomacy!” 

“Of course that’s what your subjects say… when they know you’re listening.” Despite his worry, the corners of Numair’s mouth quirked upwards at the indignant expression on the king’s face. He sighed and relaxed a little. 

“Daine’s been calling it Cub.” Numair said, and pulled a rueful face. “That was the shape it seemed to take most often. Neither of us was really surprised about that, for some reason! A few months ago she said she was glad the baby had chosen one of her favourite shapes. I said I would only be glad if it ever chose to be a human.” He grinned a little sheepishly. “I think I was even less subtle than you, your majesty!” 

“It’s the way you tell ‘em.” Jon quipped, and raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine Daine taking that comment well.”

“It sounded worse than I meant. I didn’t mean I wouldn’t love the baby even if it is born as a wolf cub – although I sincerely hope it isn’t! At the time I meant that I’d watched Daine growing more and more tired shifting from one shape to another, and I almost… I almost _hated_ the baby for doing that to her.”

“Hate? Hate’s a strong word, Numair.” Jon pointed out. The other man looked at him and his eyes were quite steady. 

“It’s the right word for how I felt back then. The first time the baby changed shape we honestly thought that she had miscarried. It was _terrifying_ , Jon. I had no idea what to do or how to help and Daine was… she was in so much pain she could barely move. She tried to meditate to get away from some of the pain while I ran for a healer, but then I heard her call me back. She could see the wild magic the baby was using, and between us we worked out what was wrong. 

When she changed shape the bleeding stopped and the pain went away. We told everyone that it was just some odd quirk of her magic that meant she had to shapeshift. We didn’t mention how, for the next few weeks, both of us were scared to sleep in case it happened again.” 

“Gods, Numair.” The whole story was new to Jon. 

“Well, at the time I blamed the baby for it. I wasn’t used enough to the idea of it being a real person to think of it as anything other than this creature that was hurting my Daine. But then…”

He remembered…  
 _  
… Daine’s eyes had fluttered open and she sighed in relief as the baby finally stopped its fretful motion and was quiet. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating and calling on her magic until she was fully human again. It was only then that she took in where she was._

_Earlier in the evening they had both been reading by the fire, and she had fallen asleep with her head resting in Numair’s lap. By the looks of the dying fire he’d been keeping very still so that she wouldn’t wake up, but it was just as likely that he was captivated by whatever he was reading. Even when he was relaxed like this Daine could feel the now-familiar frustrated anger radiating from Numair almost as keenly as she could feel the small movements of the child growing inside her._

_Carefully, almost shyly, she sat up and leaned her head against his shoulder._

_“The Badger said it would be difficult, you know.” She said conversationally._

_“Hm?” Numair looked up from his book but he couldn’t see her expression. “What would be difficult, Sweet?”_

_“Babies.” She replied with her usual bluntness. “He said that divine children are difficult.”_

_Numair laughed shortly. The sound was more surprised than amused since he genuinely hadn’t expected her to say anything like that. “Perhaps he was just describing _you_ , Daine. You know how he despairs of your behaviour…” _

_“He’d despair of any kit that doesn’t live in a set.” She grinned, taking the teasing in good spirits since it seemed to have broken through his resentment. The man’s mood soon darkened again, though, and his voice was a little flat._

_“I don’t think he meant you’d have problems, magelet. We’re both about as normal and mortal as it’s possible to be.”_

_“I don’t know if that’s true. For instance, most people wouldn’t use ‘normal’ to describe someone who’s prob’ly the most powerful mage in the world.” She said. “And that’s not even thinkin’ about my parents. Even if my folks were mortal I don’t think any child of yours would be ‘normal’!”_

_“Just me? But it has your magic.” Numair traced the line of her jaw absentmindedly. “I think we can be sure of that!”_

_“’It’?” Daine wrinkled her nose at him. “Poor little Cub, being an ‘it’! Well then, I think you’re right about that. But I bet it has your eyes.”_

_“That has very little to do with the logistics of it being the difficult child of a mage and a god-child.” Numair couldn’t quite follow her line of thought, especially not the odd half-giggle that his words provoked._

_“Are you joking, Numair? It has _everything_ to do with it! The baby’s not just a little ball of magic, you know. It’s arms and legs and eyes and toes and every single part of it comes from us, not just its magic. And that makes all the difficulty worth it, don’t’ you think?” She grinned. “Even the way it likes being difficult comes from us. I’m blaming you for that.” _

_He was silent for a long time, and after a few moments Daine took the book from him, closed it and put it to one side. Catching up his hand, she wove her fingers through his for a moment and then pressed it to her stomach._

_“You’ve never said,” she murmured, “What you hope the baby might be like. Not one word, Numair. And I know it’s been fair difficult for you to see a cub or a bird or a foal and still think of it as a little human child. But it _is_ a human, Numair. When it’s asleep it has two legs and two arms like any other baby. It’s a person, and one I’m looking forward to meeting! And that makes all the problems worth it.” _

_Numair didn’t answer, but this time his silence was more thoughtful and a lot of his anger seemed to have faded. He put his awareness into his hand, and for the first time he didn’t draw on his gift to see the child. He closed his eyes and thought about the strange, vulnerable life which slept so peacefully bare centimetres from his palm, and for the first time he felt an odd flicker of protectiveness towards the baby._

_“I…” he cleared his throat, and out of the thousands of words that were reeling in his mind in that moment he found a few that he could actually say aloud. “I hope that it’s clever.”_

_“With a da like you?” Daine smiled and kissed his cheek. “It’ll be reading ancient scrolls before it can even walk.”_

_…  
_  
“…but then?” Jon prompted, and Numair looked up, startled from his memory. 

“Ah yes, that’s right.” He blithered meaninglessly, and then corrected himself. “Daine started calling it Cub. At first the nickname annoyed me. But every time I corrected her it meant I was reminded of the fact that it was a real person. So the name started out as one of her bizarre ways to make a point, but then it kind of stuck.” 

“So when it’s born…” Jon started with a wicked grin. 

“I am _not_ letting her name it Cub.” Numair looked stern. “Besides, we’ve chosen other names.”

“Which are…?” 

“Ah, no. Even if you order me to tell you, I won’t!” The mage raised his nose into the air stubbornly. “Think of it as something to look forward to, Jon. I refuse to be the only man waiting in agonising suspense today.” 

As if on cue, a woman’s voice called out to them. Numair flinched and then bowed his head in respectful farewell to the king. Jon nodded back, and patted the other man’s shoulder before he dismissed him. 

“I don’t know what Daine needs either.” He said quietly. “It hasn’t been easy for either of you by the sounds of it, and I won’t lie and tell you it’ll be easy for her now. But I know that you’ll do more by just being with her than you might if you drained the magic from every mage in my city.” 

“Thank you,” the other man bowed again and then quickly turned on his heel. Daine had barely stirred but the midwife’s keen eyes had seen enough to know to call Numair back. When he sat on the bed beside her the girl’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled slowly. 

“Numair,” she whispered, her voice slurred with exhaustion and the lingering effects of the sleeping potion the midwife had given her. “You look terrible.” 

He laughed gently and tucked a sweat-soaked strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been talking with Jon,” he told her, watching sleepy confusion cobweb across her eyes before he explained why the king had been there. “It appears that I accidentally leeched everyone’s magic away. And all the rider’s ponies are refusing to be ridden today for some reason.”

Daine’s eyes opened wide, and before she could answer him she had to cover her face to hide her hopeless, embarrassed laughter. “Odds bobs!” She gasped, “Can we not do _anything_ without our magic making it ridiculously dramatic?” 

“It seems not,” he smiled back. “But at least people are forgiving us today.” 

She sobered a little, and her forehead creased as some of the pain started returning. “I think they... the ponies... could hear me crying.” She admitted, and clutched his hand a little tighter. “I feel bad for it, but I can’t help it.” 

“Well, that’s something I can help with.” He said, filled with sudden purpose, and raised his free hand. He gathered magic in his palm and sent it to ward the room. Daine watched, her eyes focusing but moving sluggishly as she followed the fading sparks.   
“Thank you. I was worried.”

“Anything,” he kissed her forehead. “Besides, if the baby is born as a bird and the room’s not warded then what’s to stop it from flying straight out of the window?”

“Dolt.” She pulled a face at him. “Baby birds can’t fly any better than baby humans.” 

“Then I really don’t want it making a break for the window.” He said seriously. She couldn’t help laughing at that, and then winced and arched her back. She shuddered until she found the baby’s new shape and copied it with stubborn exhaustion.   
“Ow! I hope it’s born as a baby _crocodile,_ Numair Salmalin. Then it can bite you for that.” 

“Well, since we already agreed on the name _Snappy_ …” 

“Only as a middle name. The first name is Cub, remember?” 

“Okay, I surrender. You win.” He winced at the name for effect, provoking another stifled laugh, and then he smiled more softly. “I hope it’s not born as a crocodile, really. After two days of this you deserve the most beautiful little baby in the world, Daine.” 

“Oh, it will be.” She smiled and even in her weariness the expression was radiant. “I told you - it will have your eyes.”


	5. 5: In the End

The tower had changed. Of course it had. The violence of war had never touched it, but the slow wearing of the years had taken its toll. Ivy grew along the stones and sank barbed roots into wooden slats, and every winter icy shards had swollen those cracks a little further until they latticed the building into a mosaic. 

The stables, too, were a little more mildewed and a little less noisy than they had been so many years ago. They weren’t decaying, and neither was the building, but like the people who lived inside its walls they had quietened and settled with time. This was not a place of death, but a place where life was peaceful and contented.

The war with the Immortals, even more distant than the war with Scanra, was a story that was now unearthed as rarely as the silvery stormwing feathers that lay beneath the farmland mud. Time had moved on, and if the rest of the world hadn’t moved with it, it had certainly begun to leave the tower behind. 

Inside the building a woman sat down beside her husband, sighing and holding her feet out to the fire. Even when she’d stretched them out her feet barely reached past her husband’s knees, and when she leaned her head on his shoulder Numair knew, as he always did, that his arm would reach around her easily. He did, and held her close for a long moment. 

“I do love you, you know.” He said softly, and she smiled. 

“Of course I know that.” She kissed his cheek and then settled down again. He shrugged, and there was something unusual in the gesture. 

“I don’t think I say it often enough. Not anymore.” 

She wrinkled her nose at him, and if some of the wrinkles were there for good by now it didn’t make the gesture any less comical. “We lost the habit when the children were little because they used to get so jealous!” Her voice took on a higher pitch, mimicking Rikash’s baby voice. “Oh, _daddy!_ Don’t you love me more than silly old _mummy?”_

He grinned at the memory and then sobered, surprised that a single word caused him pain. “It was never a ‘habit’, magelet. Never. I always meant it.” 

“I know that too.” 

“So you know everything about me, huh?” 

“After being married for thirty five years? I hope so! I know I’m a slow learner, but…” She stopped teasing him at the expression on his face and said more slowly, “Well, maybe not everything. But the important things, I think I know them.” 

Numair stroked her hair back from her forehead. The brown tumble of curls was streaked with grey. You could barely tell, and he admitted to himself that he had rarely noticed. He was so used to Daine being sunburned and her hair being sun-bleached that he honestly never thought that his wife was growing older.

He saw it in himself, in the thinning hair that was now steel grey and in the small tremor that never left his hands. He felt it in the way he ached every morning, and when he fell asleep reading in front of the fire he remembered how he used to stay awake, captivated, until dawn. He knew he was old. But Daine was different. She had never been old or young, she was just Daine.   
“What’s wrong?” She was asking. She looked worried. Numair shook his head. 

“Nothing, sweetling. I’m just thinking. And… and don’t tell me I think too much.” He grinned at her. “You might know everything about me, but I can always tell when you’re going to accuse me of _that.”_

“That’s plain unfair. Besides, if you know when I’m going to say it then you should know when it’s time to _stop_ thinking!” 

“That’ll happen soon enough.” He said absently, and could have kicked himself. Anyone else would have missed the slip, but Daine picked up on it in an instant. 

“What does that mean?” She demanded. When he looked away her voice took on the strength that she had practiced as a rider and perfected raising their ruthlessly energetic children. “Numair? _Tell me.”_

He looked around then, and there was almost wonder in his voice when he replied, “I don’t want to tell you. Isn’t that strange? We share everything, but I can’t make myself tell you! No, that’s wrong… I want to tell you but I don’t want you to know. I want things to stay like they are forever and not be… be changed with words.” 

Normally Daine would have pressed him until he gave up. Her stubbornness hadn’t softened one bit over the years. But something in her husband’s words stopped her, and she drew a single deep breath before simply taking his hand. She held it against her cheek for a long time, eyes shut. 

“I don’t know everything about you.” She whispered, and then opened her eyes to meet his. Her grey eyes were full of sorrow. “If I did, I’d know how to take away whatever’s causing you pain right now. But I don’t, so all I know is that you’re hurting.” 

He stroked her cheek gently and shook his head, smiling a little. “No, dearest one. I’m not hurting. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Well, now I can tell Sarralyn I truly have seen a miracle.” She quipped, but with an effort. He opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, and then started telling her something else. It was a topic that surprised even him. 

“Daine,” he said, “When I was young I had to decide what I wanted to be. Not…. Not whether I wanted to be a mage or not, but how I was going to use my gift.” 

“You decided to join the university.” Daine knew this part of the story, but her bright eyes were curious because he rarely spoke about his time in Carthak. He nodded, and kept speaking. 

“I did, and for a few years I though that would be the last decision I had to make. When you’re in a place like that it becomes your whole life, even though everyone’s always telling you to plan ahead. You look at the outside world and it feels like it’s meant for other people, not for you. Lindhall cured me of that, but in the strangest way. He sat down with me – I must have been about nineteen – and he just told me that none of it was going to happen. All of my vague plans and all of my selfish desires – the fame and riches and standing as a black robe – were gone. He told me that those things weren’t real. The illusion spells he taught me had more value.”

“I can imagine him saying that,” Daine raised an eyebrow at the idea, “but it does seem a little cruel.” 

“Cruel, perhaps! I was furious. I sat down that night and I thought about what my life was going to be. I wrote it down. Every plan. I was going to graduate and prove I was the most powerful mage in Carthak – I might have even written “the world”! I was going to ask Ozorne for a job, and of course he would gratefully accept. Other rulers would beg me to protect their kingdom, and I wanted them to. I was going to swan through life covered in rich clothes and eating fine food…” he looked at his wife and his mouth twisted into a teasing smile, “…flirting with beautiful women…” 

“I’m not too tired to hit you with a cushion, my love.” She said warningly, but then she laughed. He laughed with her, and then he became more serious. 

“Well, now I’m sitting here, in front of the fire, with you in my arms, and I’m thinking back to that list that a young man wrote with such conviction. And I’m thinking… I would have been miserable. I would be sitting in Kaddar’s palace right now, in a huge, cold and empty room, staring at the dead jewels on my fingers and wondering why I’m so sad. I would be thinking back to all the food and all the money and resenting them for taking away my youth and my attention. Worst, I would think back to all the women and wonder why I’m so lonely, because I never would have found someone to share my life with.” 

“Is that making you sad?” She sounded surprised, and without really thinking about it she moved to climb into his lap and looped her arms around his back. “None of that really happened. Why are you letting it make you sad?” 

“I’m not,” he replied, and the reply made him feel a little strange. “I’m just so grateful… so happy… that none of my dreams came true. I couldn’t have planned for a better life than the one I’ve had with you.” 

She looked at him for a long moment, her grey eyes warm and loving, and gently reached out a finger to brush away a tear he’d barely known he’d shed. Without another word she leaned forward and kissed him. The passionate heat of their youth had faded but it had left behind it a richer, endless warmth which never flickered or faded. Numair held her tightly for a long time, not wanting to let her go, and she nestled against his chest. 

“You went to see the healers today, didn’t you?” She whispered finally. He nodded against her hair, and there was a definite fear in her voice when she asked, “What… did they tell you?” 

“I’m just getting old, sweetheart.” He said softly, holding her a little tighter. “I’m getting slower and more tired and feeble, and that’s all fine. But my magic isn’t getting weaker with me. I’m not strong enough to hold it anymore, and sooner or later there will be too much for me to cope with. It happens to a lot of powerful mages in the end. I always thought it was the gods’ way of… of making the score a little more even. ” 

“In the end.” She echoed, and he felt her heart thud. She didn’t say anything, though, or look up. They stayed like that, locked together in silence and in the shared knowledge that every second that passed was one that they would never reclaim. 

The words had been spoken, and now the story could end.


	6. Warning Signs

Daine studied Numair's sleeping face and wondered, not for the first time, what on earth she was looking for.

The problem was simple. Before, she had always been on the outside looking in. Even years ago when she was fourteen or fifteen years old she'd known what to look for. Sometimes it took weeks or even months, but she would see the warning signs long before anyone else even knew there was a problem.

Sometimes she had even known something was wrong before Numair. When she was younger she had thought that was fair peculiar.

"How," she had asked him once, "can you not see when everything's going bad?"

Her question sounded annoyed, but she had good reason. Her teacher had just suffered a rather painful, not to mention _loud,_ breakup with one of his court ladies. The embarrassment hadn't hurt him any more than Daine secretly thought he had earned, but Numair had been honestly appalled at how sour the woman had grown towards him – and even more shocked at how little he could bring himself to care.

Still, the man's pride had been stung. As much as Daine wanted to pretend that she was ignorant about the whole thing, Numair's rather barbed criticisms in the first part of their lesson had made her own stubborn temper flare. It wasn't her fault that he was a blind idiot who couldn't see when he was falling out of love!

Numair had stared at her in surprise at the question and then he laughed – the oddly rueful, hugely irritating sound he only used when he wanted to be an adult talking to a child, not a person speaking to a friend.

"It's like having blinkers on. You'd do far better asking your ponies about it than me, Magelet, if you're so keen to talk about my personal life behind my back."

"Pardon me for my precious worries." She retorted. "I'd've thought a high-and-mighty scholar like yourself would know better, that's all. Or at least know your _own_ thoughts..."

"Why should I? Apparently I have you to divine them for me." Numair said sourly, and then he turned the next page in her book and pointed at a complicated looking diagram. "We can either talk about your lesson, Daine, or nothing at all."

"You've already given me a headache." She savagely shook her head and stood up, pushing her chair back so fiercely that the wooden feet screeched against the rushes. "One lecture a day is more than enough from you, thank you kindly."

"Then go away." He rested his forehead on his hands, a picture of sulky childishness, and rubbed his temples wearily. "Leave an old man to wallow in self-pity, eh?"

"If you _were_ an old man you wouldn't have this problem. You'd be thinkin' with your _head_." Daine said crudely, and then she stormed off.

Even years later Daine couldn't remember which one of them had sulked for longest. They were both far too stubborn to admit being in the wrong. She also couldn't remember if either of them had apologised. Awkward lessons had turned into slightly cold conversations. Those had slowly become warmer. In a few weeks they rediscovered the same comfortable friendship they'd kept for years, and they hadn't spoken about their argument since.

Daine learned to look for the signs so that she could keep her distance whenever her teacher was feeling sorry for himself, or when she thought something bad was about to happen. Sometimes it was far better to pretend to be busy foaling for a few days than to risk saying something that would start a fight. She knew he didn't mean to take his irritation out on her any more than she meant to provoke it.

And then there were their friends...

Alanna, always spoiling for a fight and thick-skinned to a fault, had also grown fairly good at knowing the best possible times to bait her friend. Like another link in an increasingly nosy chain, Jonathan watched Alanna and found convenient, important things for his Champion to do at the other side of the city when he saw a certain gleam in her eye... and T'Kaa shook his head at the ridiculous situation and distracted Kitten with some new immortal mage-craft until the whole mess blew over.

In that way the whole palace was caught up in the oddities of one person's indiscretions, and for several years none of them really thought anything of it. It was ridiculous, funny or sadistically tragic, and it was just the way things were.

Now she was in the middle of the problem looking out, and by all the gods, Daine was starting to think that this was even worse. She had gotten so used to watching for the signs – to seeing when Numair's relationships were going stale, or going bad – that she couldn't help but look for them now.

She could always see when her best friend was growing bored of one of his conquests. Now... she loved him so dearly it hurt. She knew that he adored her far beyond any other woman who had ever shared his bed... but she still couldn't help watching him for those same signs.

 _Stupid, stupid doltish habit!_ She scolded herself, but she still found her traitor eyes searching his face for the fifth time in as many minutes.

His eyes opened, and she yelped in genuine surprise. "I thought you were asleep!"

"I migh' have been when you started starin' at me, but..." he mumbled sleepily, and yawned. "Af'r a while it gets disc'ncertin'..."

"Dis what?" Daine smiled and touched his sleep-tangled hair. "Go back to sleep."

One eyebrow was raised slightly. "Are you going to blow the candle out and stop watching me sleep? No? I thought not."

"I'm not so tired." She evaded, "But you've been working all day, so..."

"Hm." He recognised a ploy when he saw one, even when he was barely awake, and then shook his head. There was a hint of laughter in the stubborn gesture. "No, sweetling, that isn't true. It wasn't true last night either."

"You knew I was awake?" She said it a little bluntly. Numair smiled and sat up, shaking his head to clear it. A mane of black hair tangled itself into something approaching neatness. He winced at the tickle and absently scratched his neck.

"Like I said, it's getting disconcerting. Three sleepless nights in a row gives me ample reason to worry. Apart from many other reasons for my saying something, it'll cost us a fortune in candle wax if this carries on! So, no, but: I won't go back to sleep until you tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just thinking." She said awkwardly, defensively. "That's all."

"Thoughts that keep you awake?" He asked seriously. She hesitated and nodded, and when he caught her chin and asked his second question she froze: "Thoughts about me?"

"No. Yes. Maybe." She bit her lip and looked away. "No, not you. The others. The women. The ones who you... the ones before me."

He reddened instantly, making his skin clash dramatically with the burgundy sheets. His response was more of an outcry than a question: "Gods, Daine... _why?"_

"I can't help wondering about them. Mostly, I... I wonder if I ever... Numair, what did they do wrong?" She whispered it at last, and then she found that it was impossible to meet his piercing eyes. "I... I'm afraid of making the same mistake."

"Mistake?" He blinked and then folded her in his arms, "Oh no, sweetling, that's not it at all. Don't even think..."

"I really don't want to lose you." Daine's voice was so matter-of-fact that she wondered at it. Her lover laughed and kissed her ear.

"You won't. Never." He smiled at her and she found herself smiling back, although she still wasn't quite reassured.

"Look," she told him tartly, "You have to give me an answer on this one. A _proper_ answer. Not something soft or flowery or using all those silly courtly poems that you have locked up in your head. I just need to know the answer."

"Silly poems! I'm absolutely determined to transform you into a romantic one day." He promised with a quick roll of the eyes. When she pulled a face he held up an admonishing finger. "But! If you want a serious answer I guess can do that as well."

"Or instead?" She gibed. A grin crossed her face at his pained look.

"My dear little magelet, do you have _any_ idea how well candlelight suits you? Not to mention this new habit of stealing my shirts to sleep in... which I utterly approve of, by the way..."

"You said I could." She reminded him. "My clothes are in my room."

"...and still she's so practical." He sighed and tweaked her nose. "But if I told you that you're more beautiful to me than the most haunting harmonies a thousand bards could sing, would you accept the compliment?"

"That's stupid. Music's a sound, not a thing you can see." Daine pointed out, and hoped that her blush wasn't too obvious to him. It felt to her like her cheeks were burning, and she quickly changed the subject before he could tease her about it. "And you said you'd answer my question first, you insufferable dolt."

He sighed and lay back down. "You asked me... well, you want to know what they did wrong. What do you mean? Why it never worked? Why I only spent a few nights with them, or a few weeks, before things went bad? Why I never settled down?"

"Yes. All of that." Daine thought her voice sounded a little hollow, and she was grateful when he beckoned her down and let her cuddle up against him.

And how strange it was! It was strange because her mind was warning her to be careful. It did that by showing her the last time she had asked Numair to explain this, and wasn't there a difference! Before, they had sat at opposite sides of a table covered in scraps of paper and pens and spilled ink and rune stones and wax and jewellery and all the other nonsense which littered Numair's frenetic dance of life. There had been dust on her boots from training with the Riders and scraps of thread on her sleeves from the seamstress who had been measuring her for dresses to wear to the Carthaki court. The light which pierced the arrow slits had been bright and steely, bringing in fresh cool air and the distant hubbub of soldiers and recruits.

No wonder they had so miserably misunderstood each other, with so much between them. Noise and mess and war and stubborn pride. Every warning sign Daine should have recognised in her own friendship, before prying into the others. Even age had been between them back then, when he had hatefully spoken to her like an adult lecturing a child. Now he spoke to her as one lover to another, and there wasn't even a single secret between them to bar the way.

Different, yes. But better. Daine closed her eyes and told her racing thoughts to hush. She thought about the warmth of his shoulder beneath her cheek, the strange gentle solidness of arm, elbow, wrist, hand, ribs and chest which circled her like a protection circle. She breathed in. He smelled like the odd spices he used in his spells and of ancient dusty paper. Both were scents of the old and the dry-dead, but beside the warm miasma of his skin it made a living fragrance which she adored.

"Tell me the truth," she pleaded. And then, feeling the tightness in his arm which spoke of his hesitation: "I won't be angry or hurt. I just want to know the answer."

"I think," Numair said slowly, "That you said the answer already, in your own way, better than I can explain it. You asked me 'what they did wrong'... and as much as it hurts my pride to admit it, you're right. I had the kind of relationship with them where we both had to do things right, or it would fall apart. So everything was so... not fake."

He frowned and stroked her hair, thinking. "Fake is the wrong word, but... careful; careful is a good word for it. If I didn't ask one of them to dance every basse dans with me then she would ask me why I didn't love her. Another one didn't care about dancing, but if I even looked at another woman... well!"

He wrinkled his nose at Daine's bemused expression and carried on. "But it wasn't just their fault, either. I would feel slighted if one of them didn't reply to my letters, or if another one spent longer preening in the mirror than she did undressing for bed. Stupid things. A score of small, selfish nothings to do right and wrong. A line of jealous women, and I was as jealous and selfish as the worst of them."

Daine caught up his hand and wove her fingers in and out of his own. "That doesn't sound fun."

"Fun?" He sounded amused. "No, but I wasn't really doing it for fun. They were all young, pretty and worldly enough to think that a fortnight is long enough to know enough to grow bored of another person. It suited me."

"They were still people, though." Daine traced a line on his palm, not looking up. "Maybe you shouldn't speak about them like that."

"I'm tarred with the same brush." He said dryly. "I'm no prouder of my own conduct, sweet."

"Mm." Daine set his hand down on her stomach, enjoying the heavy warmth of it through her shirt. "But I still don't know what they did wrong, not really. You're just saying they were all the wrong kind of person, but there must have been a reason why you couldn't stay with them. They can't all have been so terrible. You do have some good sense!"

He smothered a laugh in her hair and then kissed the crown of her head before he answered.

"They weren't you."

"What?" Daine blinked up at him.

"That's your answer, love. What did they do wrong? One simple thing, but by the gods it made all the difference. They weren't you."

"Are you back on the poetry now?" The girl sounded irritated, but Numair's voice took on a completely serious tone and his arm tightened around her.

"It's not poetry, Daine. It's the absolute truth. At first I realised I couldn't speak to them as freely as I could with you, and they started to seem duller. Then I found that couldn't laugh with them like I could with you, and they became so boring. And then I found I... I couldn't love them like I could love you. And when I realised that... when I saw how none of them had ever even come close... I was so ashamed of myself."

"But I didn't know." She twisted in his arms and met his dark gaze. "You didn't tell me that you loved me for months and months–"

"It felt like years." He interrupted her, and there was no softness in the words. It wasn't the line of a poem, it was a painful truth. Daine bit her lip.

"Oh."

"Oh?" He mimicked her with a strangled laugh. "I just bared my soul for you, magelet. Don't I get more than an 'oh'?"

"I wasn't plannin' on you saying that! I thought you would say... I don't know, that they muddled up your papers or something! If I'd known you were going to be all wonderful and loving about the whole thing I'd've written you a speech or something, I'm fair sure!" Daine babbled it all in a fluster and then saw that he was smiling and found that she was smiling, too.

"You could write me a poem," he suggested, and caught her cheek to kiss her playfully. "Since I'm being so 'wonderful and lovin'' and all."

"I can't write poetry any better than you can mimic my accent." She teased him. She shifted out of the circle of his arm and moved over him so she could look down into his eyes. "I'll make you a trade, though."

"A trade?"

"Since you _are_ so wonderful," she kissed his nose. "You can teach me some poetry."

"In exchange for...?" He prompted, utterly failing to hide a smile. She raised her eyebrows archly.

"If I'm not mistaken, my love, this is one of your favourite shirts I'm wearing. I'm thinkin'... if you teach me some poetry... I'll let you have it back."

"You're going to pay me back by giving me my own shirt?" He laughed out loud at that and she kissed him, smiling mischievously.

"Give? No, I don't think so." She took his hand, kissed the palm slowly, and then deliberately moved it along her thigh to where the shirt hemline ended. "But I will let you _take_ it..."


	7. The Experiment

Daine looked very awkward, which was unusual for her. Normally she would have been relaxed around her friends, even if she had been the one to ask them to talk to her. But there was something secretive in the way she had invited them to her room, and even after both Alanna and Numair had sat down she paced the room uneasily. 

“For Mithros’ sake,” Alanna said, laughing, “sit down, Daine. You’re making me dizzy.” 

“Sorry.” Daine smiled wanly and sat beside them at the table, finding a stray splinter to fiddle with almost immediately. “I don’t know how to start.” 

“What’s wrong?” Numair asked her, and concern seemed to overtake his own blatant curiosity for a moment. Daine looked surprised. 

“No, no nothing’s wrong! I just….” She took a deep breath and then blurted out, “It’s about my birthday.” 

“Birthday?” They both chorused, and then broke down into laughter. Daine joined them after a moment, a little ruefully. 

“You’re not making this any easier.” She muttered, and ran a hand through her curls. They looked attentively up at her, and so she forced herself to carry on. “Well, I thought… because I’m going to be sixteen next week, you know, and I… I wondered if… because it’s my birthday…” 

“She’s going to ask for a pony.” Alanna muttered to Numair, who shook his head and raised an intrigued eyebrow at Daine. 

“What do you want, magelet?” 

Daine looked straight at Numair and squared her shoulders, “This will probably sound fair stupid, but I want to see what it’s like to get drunk.” 

“Drunk?” Alanna echoed, and this time she didn’t laugh. Instead, she looked sidelong at Numair, trying to gauge his reaction. The man had also sobered, although there was something thoughtful in his expression.

“Daine,” he said slowly, “We’ve spoken about this…”

“No we haven’t.” she set her chin stubbornly. “You told me that it was bad for mages to lose control, but you didn’t ask me what _I_ thought about it.” 

“Clearly you’ve not thought enough, if you’re asking now.” He retorted. She scowled and shook her head. 

“Shows what you know. I’ve thought. I’ve fair agonised over it, and that’s the truth! I thought, my friends can drink and no-one says anything to them. It’s plain unfair that I’ll never know why they do it. And I’ve thought properly too, like a soldier, and I thought it’d be fair stupid if I went off and got drugged when I’m spyin’, like someone I could mention, and I didn’t know how it felt or how to deal with it.” 

He sighed and didn’t answer her, tugging at his nose as he thought. Daine took advantage of the silence to press her point.   
“Look, I was thinking that if anythin’ bad happens, either of you could just cast a barrier around me so it wouldn’t get out. I’d not be a danger to anyone that way.”

“Except yourself,” Numair muttered. She shrugged and he scowled at her menacingly. “No Daine, I mean it. I don’t know a single spell which would stop you from shapeshifting. If you got drunk enough to think that being a mouse was a good idea, and you shrank down, you would still have enough alcohol in you to inebriate a human being. In a mouse size you’d be… you’d be damn well _pickled.”_

“She’s asking for your help, not a lecture.” Alanna pointed out a little coolly to the man. “There are other ways to stop someone from shapeshifting than witching them. You could try talking, for starters.” 

He cut his eyes up at the woman but didn’t answer for a long time. Daine held her breath, not knowing what kind of answer to expect but understanding that whatever her teacher decided, it would be final. Alanna waited too, with folded arms and one foot tapping impatiently at the floor. When Daine met her gaze and smiled sheepishly the knight’s grin widened and she winked. 

“If he says yes, make sure he takes you to the Dove.” She whispered, naming the infamous inn that everyone knew her husband still frequented whenever he was in the capital. Alanna’s visits, with her bright hair hidden and in homespun clothes, were more covert.

“We’d have to set up a decent barrier spell, just in case.” Numair seemed to be thinking out loud, and Daine looked around with wide eyes to see that he was smiling ruefully at her. His smile widened for a split second when he caught her eye, and then he turned the ruefulness onto Alanna. “How many exits does the Dove have? How many windows or gaps that a little drunk mouse could squeeze through?” 

Daine made an odd squeaking noise and rushed over to hug her teacher, winning a surprised laugh. “Thank you!” She exclaimed. 

888

“We are going to conduct this like a proper experiment.” Numair said a few days later, his expression rather stern. Daine nodded, although she couldn’t quite manage to hide the way her lips curved up at the corners. Her teacher scowled at her. “No, I mean it! Daine, I agreed to this because you’re right: you do need to know how to cope with being out of control… but goddess bless it, if I think for one second that you are just having _fun…”_

Daine giggled and kicked at him under the table, knowing full well that his fierceness was mostly an act. Numair smiled wanly and waved to the barmaid. The woman nodded that she’d seen him but that she was busy, and so the man leaned closer to his friend to be heard over the noise. 

“Before the others get here, magelet – try to remember you mustn’t shape-shift, and I’m sorry but if I think you are getting out of control I will trap you in a shield prism until you sober up.”

He opened his hand and showed her the spell he’d spent most of the day completing. It was a very pretty little thing which looked like a glass prism, except instead of refracting the firelight and casting rainbows it looked completely empty, as if it were a piece of solid sky which had fallen into his hand. The whole thing looked unbearably fragile, but Daine knew that with a single whispered incantation it would become an unbreakable cage especially designed to catch and calm stray bursts of her magic. 

“I understand, sir!” she mocked a riders’ salute with exaggerated pomp, and despite his reservations about the whole idea Numair started laughing helplessly. All of his seriousness faded away, and he stretched his long legs out comfortably under the bench. Under all of his objections he was secretly anticipating what would probably be a most entertaining evening. 

“Can I buy your first drink, mistress birthday girl?” 

The door crashed open, and in a wave of excited voices and cheerful laughter filled the room. The Dove’s normal patrons looked up and rolled their eyes at the sight of the various Rider recruits, stable hands and archers who Daine spent her days with. They walked through the door in small groups, relieved to have ended their day’s work. One by one they saw Daine and gave her their best wishes. Only a few of them knew about the so-called experiment; the rest were simply there for a party, and before long the small inn was bustling with chatter and singing. 

The party carried on for several hours, as minstrels and bards took turns playing saucy songs and people danced. After that some of the patrons started to peel off, wishing the others good night as they gathered around the warm fire and told each other stories about ghosts, lovers, heroes, gods and pirates. The giggly, tipsy men and women ooh’d and ah’d in all the right places, but after another hour they had broken off into smaller groups who laughed or sang or argued in their own friendly knots. 

“I so too could do it!” Daine was heard declaring loudly. She stood up and looked down her nose at her friend Mari, waving her clay beaker in the air expressively. “Kitten does it all the time, and I’m older than her!” 

Mari folded her arms and pouted her lips. “Don’t believe you.”

“Prove it!” Another young rider shouted out. Daine laughed and raised her arms for silence, which the little group rapturously provided. 

“Ladies and… Gen’nelmen.” She said a little unsteadily, and then recovered. “I give you the lost art of dragon-ness! Dragon-icity! Oh, crumbs!” She lowered her arms, visibly confused. “Numair, what’s the right word?”

“For what?” He grinned at her, beyond entertained. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re trying to do.” 

“Like Kitten! Mari said I could never change colour like she does. I bet I could!”

Numair raised an eyebrow slightly and wrapped his fingers around the prism, ready in case anything went wrong. But the trick seemed harmless enough; as long as she didn’t try to grow or shrink he didn’t really want to stop his student from enjoying herself.

“Tonal transfiguration?” He suggested the long term a little mischievously. Daine’s mouth fell open. 

“Tonal _what?”_

“Stop stalling.” Mari was utterly unimpressed. Daine stuck her tongue out. She made an imperious gesture for hush and then squeezed her eyes shut, fiercely focused. 

“She’s turned red!” Someone shouted out, and there was a round of applause. Mari could be heard shrilly over the top of it. 

“She just held her breath! That’s cheating!”

Daine opened her eyes and gasped in a lungful of air, laughing hysterically at the crestfallen expression on her friend’s face. “What’d you expect? I promised I wouldn’t use magic tonight!” 

“Awww, did you promise him that you would cheat too, _Magelet?”_ Mari crooned accusingly. Daine flushed even redder and then bit her tongue so sharply that she winced. Avoiding a retort, she instead buried her nose back into her mead. 

“You’ve gone red too.” She muttered stubbornly, and then spluttered a laugh. Mari’s furious expression dissolved into tears of laughter just as one of the minstrels started playing again, and both of the girls made their way over to the musician. A few young men joined them, and at that point Numair decided to leave Daine to her own devices for a while. Mari knew to come and find him if anything went wrong, but he suspected that even a quite-drunk Daine would prefer to stay wholly human to dance with a boy. He paid a few coppers for some blonde ale and settled down beside the fire, chatting to some of George’s friends about that scoundrel’s latest schemes. 

An hour or so later he was so caught up in their stories that Mari’s sudden reappearance honestly bewildered him for a moment. Then he remembered why he was here and was suddenly alert for trouble. 

“It’s Daine!” Mari gasped, somewhere between panic and laughter. “She got all dizzy and then she couldn’t stand up so she did something and now she has…

…cat ears! Numair snorted a laugh when he spotted the fuzzy tips peeking out of the girl’s hair. He shook his head in defeat and patted Mari’s shoulder. “There’s not much I can do about that.” Then he sauntered over to Daine and made his voice deliberately acerbic. “Those won’t make you balance any better, sweetling.” 

“Cat’s’re good b’lancers. They always land onna feet, ‘cept when they don’t.” Daine informed him haughtily. “I’ll show you!” 

Numair frowned and caught at her elbow, almost dragging her out into the cooler air of the courtyard. She stumbled so much that in the end he lifted her up and hauled her over to a bench. He set her down beside a brazier and saw that beneath the faun-coloured ears she was nearly green.

“Okay, Daine… magelet, I think you’ve had more than enough.” Numair ignored her moue of argument and uncurled her fingers from her cup. His expression was torn between amusement and distaste when he pushed it out of reach. “I think we might safely say this experiment of yours is over.” 

“Oh…” Daine waved a hand clumsily and blinked when her knuckles knocked against the brazier. “B’t Mari…”

“Mari doesn’t have wild magic to worry about so she’s a little more used to this than you are. And Mari doesn’t look so…” Numair stopped and caught up her hair when Daine suddenly reeled to one side and vomited onto the dark grass. 

“Are you enjoying your birthday?” He asked her dryly when she’d finished. 

“D’n’t feel well.” She muttered, reeling against his shoulder. He handed her a handkerchief and she wiped her mouth with some embarrassment. “’m s’rry ‘mair…” 

He shrugged and then caught her shoulder before his movement could send his dizzy friend reeling. At least only her ears had shapeshifted, although he was kicking himself for being so distracted that he hadn’t noticed how much more Mari had given Daine to drink. Still, it was what she had wanted, he supposed, sickness notwithstanding. “Given the alternatives, magelet, I consider this one of the better ways tonight could have turned out.” 

“Got some on y’r shoes.” Daine pointed out. 

“Hence why I refrained from saying this was the _best_ outcome.” 

“Heh, ‘frained.” The girl giggled and tried again to shape the word. “Reee… Rifri…. Y’always have such funny words, ‘mair.” She laughed again, louder this time, and patted his shoulder with her fingertips. “Even ‘mair is a funny word. But not… not ha –ha funny, more… happy funny. Ha-unny like… like honey. But not sweet. Like mead. Like… can people get drunk on a name, ‘mair? If I s…said it over and over and over…?” 

“You have mead on the brain, magelet.” Numair couldn’t help smiling. “Literally and figuratively.” 

“’Mair, ‘mair, ‘mair…” She chanted and grinned at his exasperated huff. “Nuuuuuuu-mair, s’not working. I think ‘m wrong ‘bout this.” 

“I don’t think you could get much drunker. Perhaps it is working and it just can’t make a difference.” 

Daine drew herself up archly and regarded him with some dignity. “Y’r teasin’ me, ‘mair, ‘n I won’ put up with any’f y’r nonsense. I am wrong ‘cause ev’ryone knows words can’t make anyone drunk.” 

“And how would you know it doesn’t work? You were pronouncing it wrong.” Numair gibed mercilessly, and the girl scoffed a short derisive laugh and leaned back against his shoulder. He drew the edge of his cloak over her, knowing she was far too soused to notice that the night air was getting cold. “Are you feeling better, magelet?” 

“A little.” She fiddled with the edge of the cloak. “I like y’r shiny thread!” 

“It’s nice, isn’t it? So don’t be sick on it.” He warned her with a hidden smile, and she shook her head seriously. After a few minutes she stopped swaying as dramatically, and Numair asked, “Do you think you can walk home, magelet?”

“Yes!” She stood up with dignity and then fell flat on her face. “No!” 

Numair laughed out loud and helped her up, waiting patiently for her to regain her dizzy balance before taking his hands away from her waist. “Well I won’t carry you. You got yourself into this state on purpose.”

“Won’ be doing it ‘gain.” She mumbled, and sat back down with a groan. “The ground doesn’ like me.” 

“Ah, the ground’s fine.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It just isn’t used to cat-girls.” 

She blinked blearily at him and then nodded, the gesture far too exaggerated for her small shape. She bit her lip in concentration and after a few seconds the ears faded back down into round, pink human arches. 

Numair smiled in considerable relief and ruffled her hair. For some reason he had expected her shapeshifting – if she attempted any – to be clumsy and inelegant. He had imagined strange hybrid animals, with the nose of one creature and the tusk of another on a third mammalian face. It was good to know that Daine had such a good control over her Gift that even when she couldn’t see straight, she could summon piecemeal forms with ease. He told her so, with a touch of genuine pride, and the girl groaned loudly. 

“Gods, ‘mair! Would you shut up ‘bout your experim’nting? I just w’nted to get drunk!” 

“Mission accomplished.” He acceded with more than a hint of humour. She narrowed her eyes at him. Then she winced and ducked her head back down in her hands. 

“Y’r too shiny ‘n spinny.” She scolded him. 

“You need to go to sleep.” He returned. She nodded obediently and started to lie down on the bench until he laughed shortly and raised her up again. “Not here! Come on, I’ll get you home.” 

“I c’n sl’p here…” She burbled. 

 

“Perhaps so, but I refuse to sleep on such a mouldy old bench.” 

“Th’n you go…home…” Daine’s voice started fading away into sleepy nonsense. Numair shook his head. 

“Until you sober up again, Magelet, I’m going to be your shadow. You have dreams.” He saw that she had fallen deeply asleep, one errant curl dangling fitfully down the arch of her nose. As always, her sleeping face was marked with a thin line whose secrets she could never remember – or would never admit to – when she woke up. 

And what were dreams but things to escape – things to fight against and claw at with hands which could easily shape-shift in a drunken night? Numair watched her for a moment and then brushed the strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I know you have dreams.”


	8. Those Kinds of Questions

Sarralyn had a question. 

She bit her lip and looked up from one grown-up to another. Even if she had stood up she would have had to raise her chin to see them tonight– dada was always going to be taller than everyone in the world, ever, and mama was perched on top of a high stool. 

Other parents had normal chairs and tables in their homes – Sa had seen them herself – but their home was full of strange oddments. Ma had balanced precariously on the stool a while ago as she climbed up to the rafters after an injured bat, who had peeped in fear and wriggled away several times on a mangled leg. Once she had the bat caught safely in her arms Daine had plopped down onto the stool and stayed there, eyes shut. 

“Mama,” Sarralyn said, and then louder: “Mama?” 

When the woman’s eyes flickered a little her daughter pottered over to her and tugged at her leggings, wrinkling her nose at the sharp smell of bat dung. “Mama!” 

Her mother’s grey eyes flashed open and the bat she held squeaked. It was a pained sound, and Daine flinched at it. She looked down at her daughter and very sharply said, “Not now.” 

“But ma...” Sarralyn’s lip wobbled. Daine sighed and looked up at her husband, seeing that he was completely absorbed in a book. A book that he had absolutely promised not to even glance at this evening. 

“Numair,” she said crossly, and when he didn’t react she scowled and threw a cushion at him. It hit the man squarely on the nose, and he yelped and dropped the volume painfully on his toes. 

“Daine, what on _earth...”_

“You’re supposed to be watching her tonight.” Daine interrupted unapologetically. “You know I’m working.” 

“I know you didn’t have to hit me in the _face.”_ He retorted. She shrugged, but a wicked glint crept into her eyes. 

“Whoops.”

“Don’t ‘whoops’ me, magelet. I know how good your aim is.” He muttered, and then held out one hand to his daughter. “Come on then, sweetheart. You’d better get away from her before she decides to throw that bat at me.” 

“I wouldn’t do that to the bat.” 

Numair pulled a face at his wife but she was already turning her attention back to the creature. Sarralyn went to her father happily, used enough to her parent’s rapid arguments to know that there was no real anger in their voices. Her da caught her up easily, and she squealed as he picked her up and planted a kiss on her cheek. 

“Numair...” Daine started warningly when the noise distracted her from her magic a second time. He nodded and stood up, carrying the giggling child out of the room. Sarralyn could have walked the winding steps down to the tower’s kitchen, of course, but even at seven years old she still loved it when her father carried her. 

“Now then, Sa,” he murmured, setting her down neatly on the kitchen table. “How about we make some biscuits? That should cheer your grumpy mother up a little, shouldn’t it?”

“Not the way you make them, dada,” Sarralyn hid a laugh at da’s mock-offended expression. This game never got old. 

“Well! Maybe _you_ should do all the work, then!” He tweaked her nose and fetched a bowl and a wooden spoon. “I’ll help you eat them, of course.”

She nodded solemnly and watched him carefully measure flour out into the bowl. This was something people said she got from her father – the absolute insistence on things being done properly. When he had made three little heaps of flour she patted them down flat with the spoon and made a neat hole in the middle for him to mix in honey and eggs. 

“Why were you bothering mama anyway, Sa?” Numair asked her, watching her carefully break an egg yolk. “You usually know better than that.” 

“I wanted to ask her something,” Sarralyn stirred the mess together and watched the orange yolk bleeding into the grainy flour. “I heard it in the village and I thought... if the twins were asleep... she might tell me. Because I’m all grown up now, even if they’re not.” 

“Ah yes, the ancient old age of seven.” To his credit, Numair barely smiled at his own gibe, and when his daughter nodded he was glad of that. 

Sometimes Sarralyn was entirely too caught up in her own thoughts, so it was nice when she wanted to share them. He often wished he knew how to coax them out of her with the ease that Daine could. He reasoned that his wife had spent most of her life practicing getting stories out of little heads. While he was fine with not being able to talk to animals, it was frustrating when he couldn’t talk to his own child. “Can’t you ask me your question, sweet?” 

“I guess,” she said simply, and handed him the bowl. “My wrist aches.” 

“Well, you did really well,” he peered into the bowl. “Hardly any lumps, and we can pretend they’re bits of apple.” He found some of the fruit and started cutting it into pieces. “This is going to take me a while, Sarralyn! You’d better ask me your question or else I might get bored and fall asleep.”

“You’d fall in the mixing bowl.” Sarralyn laughed and pointed at it. “Splat!” 

“It’d be hilarious, but I’d rather not,” he winked at her. “So, if you don’t mind...?” 

“Oh. Well, I was in the village and the other children were there and they were talking about Millie Thatcher getting married next week.” 

“That’s not a question.” 

“I know that, silly daddy! But it’s where I got the question from!” She planted her hands on her hips, looking hilariously like a miniature Daine for a second with her stubborn grey eyes. “Then, dada, they were talking about why she got married, and it made me wonder why you married ma. That is my question.”

“Why do you think?” He laughed and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Because we love each other, you strange creature. Why else?”

“They said Millie got married because her da arranged it. He said she would run the thatchin’ and Eoin would cut the reeds, and it was a good match for them to work together.” Sarralyn shrugged. “I wondered if maybe... because you’re both mages, and because Uncle Jon got you to fight together in the wars, and he said you were two of the most powerful mages ever... maybe it was arranged for you to get married as well.” 

“No.” Numair’s voice was a little distant, and he mentally cursed as he swept the apple chunks into the bowl. “Here, stir these in.” He handed her the bowl, giving himself time to think as he went to build up the fire. Sarralyn didn’t confide in him very often, but by Shakith since she had started talking she had never let a single question go without a full answer. If he didn’t sort out this mess quickly he would never hear the end of it. 

“Some people say that’s why.” Sarralyn persisted in a small voice. “They think I’m too little to hear them.” 

“Idiots.” Her father picked up the fire irons and stabbed a dusty ember into oblivion. Ash rattled down through the grate, and he wedged a larger piece of wood into the stove. “Sa, you don’t answer them, do you? You know it’s rude to talk about people behind their backs.” 

“Of course I don’t!” The girl gaped at him, and a wodge of batter fell off the spoon she was holding onto the floor with a flat squelching noise. She felt like she was being scolded, because her da’s voice had suddenly become heated and she didn’t understand why. “How can I say anything when I don’t know the truth, daddy? That would be _lying.”_

He looked at her for a moment and then smiled. It wasn’t a proper smile – and the little girl could tell the difference – but she knew it meant that he wasn’t angry at her. She smiled back a little shakily and put the spoon back in the bowl, feeling a bit guilty about the wasted batter. Her da turned back to the fire and his voice became more curious than angry. 

“What else do they say? Why did you think it might be true?” 

“Well...” she chewed on her lip thoughtfully, “They said mama is younger than you, and I know that’s true, and they said you used to teach her magic when she was a little girl like me. Is that true, da?”

“No, she was a lot older than you,” Numair looked around and his voice was direct, honest. “She wasn’t a little girl, Sarralyn, but she wasn’t quite a grownup either. That’s why people say things about us now.”

“Are they _bad_ things?” Sarralyn looked confused, and her father nodded slowly. 

“They’re things that we... that you mother and I... talked about a lot before we decided to get married. We knew people would say those things. I don’t know how much of this you’ll understand, love, but if those people say nasty things about us then you should ignore them.”

“Shouldn’t I tell them they’re wrong?” 

“No, because in a lot of ways they’re not, and I don’t want you arguing with them.” He sighed and tugged at his nose, leaving a smudge of ash. “I’ll explain it when you’re older.” 

“Odd’s bobs!” She piped up, using the exclamation her mother used a lot. “How much older do I have to _get?”_

“Old enough not to spill cake mixture all over the floor.” A tired voice said, and Sarralyn looked up to see her ma already finding a rag to clean up the mess. Sarralyn tetchily thought that her ma was so streaked in the bat’s nervous leavings that even the messy floor looked clean, but she didn’t say anything. 

“What’s with all the serious faces?” Daine asked, and rubbed her forehead. “Do I need to apologise to you both? Fera was screaming in my mind whenever I stopped healing him.” 

“Sarralyn was asking if Jon arranged our marriage because we’re both mages.” Numair explained, taking the bowl from his daughter with a secret smile and starting to ladle batter onto the tray. Daine’s eyebrow shot up and she looked at her daughter. 

“Why would he do that?” 

Sarralyn bit her lip, wondering if explaining again would upset her ma the same way it had upset da. She nearly burst into tears of relief when her father chipped in, using his playful voice. 

“Presumably to spawn a race of amazing super-mages.” 

“Now there’s an interesting thought,” Daine laughed, and brushed her fingers lightly over the man’s shoulder. “Maybe we should suggest it to him.” 

“Are you volunteering, sweetling?” There was a strange note in Numair’s voice, halfway between laughter and something else, and Daine grinned before she turned away. 

“I told you that _you’re_ having the next three, dearest. I have other things to be getting on with.” She picked up Sarralyn and kissed her soundly. “This one, for starters, is making biscuits way past her bedtime.”

“They’re for you, mama!” Sarralyn wriggled delightedly. “Da said they would stop you being grumpy!” 

“Did he?” Her ma pursed her lips severely and archly ignored her husband’s look of betrayal. “What else was he saying about me, my lovely little spy?”

“Um, he said...” Sarralyn smiled at her father’s frantic pantomiming behind her ma’s back, and then looked back at Daine. “He said he married you because he loved you.”

“Mm.” She cuddled her tightly and then drew back and faked a disapproving look. “You shameless charmer.” 

“Daddy wouldn’t lie, mama!” The little girl looked frankly horrified at the implication. Daine smiled and shook her head. 

“I believe him,” she leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t tell him this, but I love him, too.” 

“He already _knows_ that, mama.” Sarralyn declared with a long-suffering sigh. “You say it to each other all the time!” 

“And to you, and the twins,” Daine corrected her. “Would you rather we stopped, little miss?” 

“Oh no,” The girl smiled sweetly and rested her forehead against her mother’s for a long while. “It’s a pretty thing to say.” 

“Then I’ll come up and say it to you before you fall asleep.” Her ma promised, and then kissed her forehead. “Off you go, love.”


	9. Sharing Beds with Animals

That first week, for entirely delightful reasons, neither Daine nor Numair got much sleep. 

If they had still been fighting a war they might have been more careful, but honestly for the first few days the only real worry they had was in hiding their yawns from their friends in the mornings. That was easy compared to hiding the looks, the slight touches, the way they reddened at the slightest look from the other person. 

A few days passed before they laughingly admitted to each other that they were very, very bad at keeping this secret. 

Moving from Corus to the tower seemed like a good idea at the time, but the added privacy simply took away the illusion of time altogether. Night time waited, and beckoned to them patiently, and after a few blurred days the world began to right itself. It was harder to pretend they weren’t exhausted when the owls were calling to each other outside. The moon drew back and the darkness crept in, and velveteen sleep seemed to be dragged into the room with it. 

And so they must have slept eventually, because suddenly it was dark, and Numair swatted at the odd itching sensation on his leg, and then flinched and opened his eyes as sharp claws dug into his hip. He peered into the darkness in sleepy confusion and was met by a pair of liquid brown eyes. 

The fox stared at him plaintively and made a strange noise, looking around and sniffing at the air as if it were confused. The man blinked at it for a second and then saw that its hind leg was badly torn and bleeding. A vicious caltrop was caught in the blood-matted fur. 

“Oh,” he muttered foggily, “You want Daine.” 

The fox ducked its head down in something like a nod and then waited expectantly. Numair shook Daine’s shoulder gently. 

“Sweetling, um... there’s a fox here for you.” 

“Fox?” She mumbled, and came slowly awake. Her tired voice grew serious as she saw how much pain the animal was in. “Numair, he says you’re in his way.” 

“I gathered that.” He rubbed his eyes and drew his long legs up so that she could scoot past him. Daine smiled her thanks but her attention was already taken up with the animal as she slid out of the bed and held her hand out in greeting. The fox, Numair noticed rather pettily, did not sink his claws into the wildmage.

“Daine,” he tugged the blanket off the bed and handed it to her. “Do you want any help?” 

The girl shook her head and wrapped the fabric around her shoulders. Then she kissed him, her voice a soothing murmur. “Go back to sleep, love. I’ll be a while.” 

Daine gathered the creature up into her arms. She turned to leave the room, her eyes widening into the sensitive cat-eyes that she used to see in the dark, and then she turned back. “Maybe we should sleep on the other sides, if I’m going to be staying here with you.” 

“You are,” he said emphatically, and then yawned, which lessened the force of the words. “Does this happen enough for it to matter?”

She laughed. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for, my love. Sleep well.” 

When she came back Numair woke up a second time, although this time it was the sharp smell of astringent tea-tree ointment and cleaning alcohol which brought him out of the darkness. Daine kissed his cheek before she lay down, and she cuddled up to his drowsy warmth with a sigh of relief. He looped an arm around her shoulders. 

“All done?” He asked. She nodded wearily against his shoulder and then yawned. 

“I hate caltrops. Vile things. Should ask Jon to get the riders to go and hunt for them now the war’s done with.”

“Mm.” He squeezed her for a moment and then he smelled tea-tree again, and had to ask: “Daine, sweetling, did you sneak that fox into bed with us?”

“He needs to sleep just as much as I do.” The girl said unapologetically. “And I want to keep him still tonight or else he’ll be running home on that leg before it’s all knitted up right.” She opened her eyes and her voice grew a little anxious. “You aren’t angry, are you?”

“Not really… I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to feel comfortable enough sharing a bed with me to do that.” He kissed her forehead and his lips moved against her skin, “Just… only when we’re sleeping, and keep them on your side of the bed, alright?”

“Alright.” She smiled and nestled closer again. “So which is my side? We seem to fall asleep whichever way we end up. I’m counting myself lucky if I don’t have the pillows at my feet these days.” 

“If you keep saying things like that when I’m trying to sleep, Daine, those pillows will end up thrown on the floor.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m too tired to actually do anything.” She yawned as if to prove her point. “You’re just fun to tease. G’night, Numair.” 

“Sleep well, mischief.”


	10. Don't Fly Out of the Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift for thegreyladies. :-)

There is a saying which people use when their friends are angry which goes: don’t fly out of the window! 

For most people it means they should calm down, or that they are overreacting. They say it in teasing voices, or in frustrated voices, but never with the cold command which Numair Salmalin used on that cold, sleet-drenched evening. 

His wife planted her calloused hands on her hips and glared at him. Her chin was set in a stubborn line, and even her normally full lips were tight and furious. Daine looked about three seconds away from throwing the shutters open and leaping into the empty air. 

She had done it before, and she would do it again. The soaring air calmed her down, and often what started the furious rows between her and her husband was the close air of their cluttered home. They usually couldn’t even keep track of what they were fighting about, they just knew that they were angry. One of them, already irritated by some small thing, would stub their toe on a half-repaired saddle or stumble over the brittle wickerwork of an abandoned spell, and that would be that. 

This time even Kitten had run for cover. If their rooms weren’t habitually warded against all the bizarre magic which lurked in the air then the palace guards would probably have come running at the sound of their raised voices. Kitten’s upset mutterings usually brought Daine to her senses, at least enough to leave the room. 

When she was angry, she walked to the stables. When she was furious, she flew to the forest. 

Daine, Numair knew on that night, was livid. 

He saw her take a step towards the window and his angry voice grew cold, the kind of curt order he had never even given to slaves in Carthak. “Don’t fly out of the window.” 

“Oh, why not?” She retorted, not stopping her path. “Do you still need someone to yell stupid things at? Use one of your damn simulay… things, Numair, because I’m not talking to you.” 

“You’re pretending to be stupid just to annoy me.”

“You use stupid words!” She yelled back. “I’m not…”

“Why would I care about a _word?_ I don’t care! I _care_ that you always fly out of the window. THAT is stupid!” 

“Some of us can control our shapeshifting magic.” She said snidely, and opened the window. “Flying makes me feel better, and it’s good practice, oh teacher, and it gets me away from _you!”_

 

“I won’t let you fly in a sleet storm when you’re already tired and angry.” Numair snapped. He waved a hand and the shutter was ripped from her hands. It slammed shut so violently that she cried out and took a step back, feeling the icy water which had leapt from the outer frame onto her face trickling down her neck. 

“You won’t _let_ me?” She turned on him and actually clenched her fists. “I didn’t ask for your blessed permission! How _dare_ you use magic on me?” 

“I didn’t. If I used magic on you, you’d know it.” His voice was thunderous, and something of his own self-control had cracked enough to make the air feel heavy. It was as if magic were being dragged from the air – something he had done consciously in the dragon lands, but something which he did unconsciously when he was truly, truly upset. Even with their wards the people outside of the room would be able to feel it. Daine glared back at him, and for a few heartbeats the tension was so thick time seemed to slow. Every creature in the castle held its breath without knowing why. Something, anything, had to give way. 

Kitten shrieked out a note, and Daine flinched. Quick as a heartbeat, she shrank down to almost nothing and a tiny field mouse scampered straight under the bed. 

The sleet crackled loudly against the window shutter. After a long time, still breathing unevenly, Numair walked over to it and slowly pressed his palm against the wood. The shutter was broken; a long crack blistered all the way across it right between the hinges. When he took his palm away the sleet grew louder as the broken wood rattled in the frame. 

The man stared at the spoiled carpentry for a while. 

“Daine,” he said, knowing that she was still there, listening, and not bothering to hide the clipped anger in his voice. “Don’t put yourself in danger to punish me. You know I worry, and how much I hate not knowing where you are. You know that it’s because I love you. Using that as a way to punish me isn’t just stupid, it’s… it’s beneath you.” 

He traced the crack on the shutter with one long finger and then turned away.


	11. No Place Like Home

Daine could remember, to the hour, when she finally felt like she had a new home.

After summoning a Kraken and saving the life of one of the most powerful mages in the world, it seemed like everybody was far too interested in her. At first, since she was still giddy with the glow of victory, the way her friends fought over her made her laugh. Then it started to make her cringe, and finally she had to sneak away and hide into the stables when a certain redhead got that glint in her eye.

Numair found her, planting his hands on his hips in that annoying overbearing way he had.

"Come on," he said shortly, not even bothering to apologise for the way he had insisted he knew her thoughts better than Daine did a few minutes before to a red-faced Alanna. "Come on, get up and stop skulking behind that pony. We'll just leave."

Daine gaped at him. "Leave?"

"Yes. I live near here and you won't learn anything if this carries on. I want you to myself for at least long enough to finish a sentence." He scowled.

If he hadn't looked so furious then Daine would have argued with him. She still sometimes felt an odd clumsy-awkwardness around her teacher, and the thought of being alone with him made her stomach close into a fist. She imagined days of silent, sulky meals where she had made mistakes in her lessons, or where he was longing to kick this child out of his home, and the food would grow cold between them because she wouldn't be able to swallow a single bite.

For the next few days, to her dismay, she found that she wasn't quite wrong about that.

Before they had even unlaced their boots Numair had flung his saddlebags carelessly into the stairwell and had disappeared. Daine stood awkwardly in the doorway, hugely curious to explore the tower but worried in case she made a misstep. After waiting for a few minutes she sighed and headed back to the stables, deciding that whatever rules her teacher might have about his house, he obviously didn't care about how his poor horse had to live.

Hours later it was growing dark and she had run out of things to do, and so she returned to the house. The door was still wide open and Numair's bag was still spilled across the steps. He obviously hadn't returned. The girl harrumphed as loudly as she dared, winced at the discovery that the stairwell had a loud echo, and headed into the building.

Kitchens were always easy enough to find, and Daine quickly found one that was dark, dusty and cold. She scowled and started lighting a fire. _Honestly!_

"I can do that."

Daine knew well enough to get away from the kindling quickly when she heard that sentence, and when the logs burst into flame she turned and asked, "Where did you go?"

"Just to find a book." He scratched his nose and opened a cupboard, looking vaguely disappointed at the contents.

"A book? You were gone for _hours!"_ Daine didn't know if she was annoyed or shocked or amused, but when he looked completely baffled by that, and looked out of the latticed window at the dark sky as if it were logically impossible, she couldn't help laughing. Numair joined her, a little ruefully.

"Did you find your room?" He asked it so casually, and she shook her head.

"No? I haven't looked around. I didn't want to intrude or... or pry, or..."

"Pry? Daine, you can go wherever you like." Numair looked at her as if she were the one being strange, but his voice was patient. "This is your home, not a castle or an inn or anything. I'm not going to go around locking you out. If I'm doing something dangerous I'll ward my workshop, but other than that..." he shrugged and then added as an afterthought, "Your room has a lock, though, if you need it."

She blushed. "No."

"I'll show you where it is." He picked up her bag from the kitchen table and looked sheepishly at the clean mark it had left in the dust. As if to excuse the state of his home, he started saying, "The book I was looking for is in your room too. I thought it'd make a good welcome home present. I guess I took a long time because after I found it I had to find the right chapter to mark, and then I saw that it had a fascinating section on... Daine, do you know anything about jellyfish?"

...and so the lessons began.

Numair taught her with a unique, irritating blend of patience and frustration. Daine was the sort of person who liked to try out the things she was reading, asking birds to fly into the room and show her their wingspans or running into the woods to peer, fascinated, into fox burrows. Numair, on the other hand, was always reading ten chapters ahead. By the time his student finished one lesson he had planned the next four, unless she asked a question which completely derailed the way he thought about her magic.

Daine quickly became very good at asking those kinds of questions. When he couldn't answer them he muttered to himself, and the animals were fascinated by it. The sight of her teacher wandering around his study, oblivious to the synchronised tilting of heads, made Daine laugh so much she had to muffle the sound in her hands.

And, still, it didn't feel like her home. At the end of each day she looked at her bag which still held most of her clothes, and then looked at the wooden chest at the end of her bed, and every night she finally climbed between the sheets with her day's clothes stacked diplomatically on the floor.

"Messy," her ma would have called it, but it made the girl feel a little better. There, folded halfway between the furniture and her travel bag, she knew that her clothes were caught in just the same position that she was.

A few days later Daine was reading in the kitchen when she heard a rapid tap on the door, and Numair looked in. "Pack your things," he said, and smiled. "We're going to Corus."

"Corus?" She shut the book with a snap. "Why, what's happened?"

"Happened, magelet?" He looked genuinely bewildered, and Daine tried to explain.

"Well, whenever we go anywhere _something_ happens, so it figures..."

"Oh." He rubbed his hair awkwardly. "No, it's nothing like that. Jon's holding court there next week for the festival and I'd like to go. Wouldn't you?" He looked at her, hopeful and nervous as if he were a young boy asking her permission to go.

Daine found herself smiling at that. She knew he would take the smile for agreement so she shook her head and said, "I'm not a... a going-to-court person. I don't know how to dance or nothing."

"I am," he grinned at her. "Come on, magelet, I can teach you to curtsey. It's just our friends."

"I'm sure you'd look more graceful curtseying than me," she returned, irked by his playfulness. For once he seemed to notice her unease, although with typical absentmindedness he interpreted it the wrong way.

"That's what I was going to tell you! I forgot, so of course you said no." He smiled happily. "Thayet sent a message this morning."

"Does she ask us to go?"

"Of course not, it's a festival. You just turn up." He shrugged and handed her the note. Daine resisted the urge to throw it at him.

 _Numair, Daine,_ it read: _We hope you are both well._

_All things considered this arrangement is probably best. Numair, you should know that a certain person is still saying you acted like a petulant child. Daine, I know you would never let yourself be kidnapped, whatever Alanna says. We wish you had told us of your decision before you both disappeared, but given the circumstances it was doubtless a wise move to be so discrete._

_That said, Daine: please remember that we are all here for you, and if you ever want to visit us or move away from your dear kidnapper, then you are more than welcome. I have included a promissory note in this packet which I hope you will accept – if you take it to my tailor in Corus he will make you any clothing you may need. I know that as a young lady there are some things which you probably will not want to ask Numair for, and I also hope that you will ask the tailor for something nice. Everyone should have a beautiful dress tucked away, even if it does end up under a pile of tack and saddles. Or books, now I think on it._

_Enjoy the studies, both of you! – Thayet_

"Oh." Daine blushed and looked up. "That was nice of her." She managed, lamely.

"It means you'll have something to wear." Numair, ever the dandy, grinned.

"Odds bobs!" She exclaimed, "Is _that_ why you thought I didn't want to go?"

"Erm, up until you just said that I was certain of it, yes." He suddenly looked worried. "Is something else wrong?"

"The dress thing wasn't a something-to-be-wrong in the first place!"

"Eloquently put, and I am very chastened and ashamed of myself for thinking you might like to look pretty." He tweaked her nose, grinning when she pulled a face at him. "Now kindly answer my question, Miss Sarrasri."

Daine's cheerful expression sobered. She looked up at Numair, and back at the note, and then back at him, and then she sighed and put the note down.

"Seems like we're always moving around." She said finally, in a quiet voice. "It's nice and all to see all the new places, but I'm fair tired. When we were trainin' up the Riders was the only time I've stopped since... since I left home, and that was mostly working, too. You're home now, so you don't feel it, I reckon. But I'm feeling so flighty I can't even convince myself to unpack."

"Since you left home?" he echoed, and there was a note in his voice that she hadn't heard before. With an odd jolt she remembered that he was a drifter, too. Just like her, he'd had to leave everything he knew behind him and start a new life. For all she knew, he'd never stopped.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, "Of course we should go."

He looked at her for a long time, and then he turned away and started pulling pots out of a cupboard. Eventually he found a kettle, filled it with water from the rain barrel outside the kitchen door, and put it onto the stove. It whined loudly as the cold metal grew used to the sudden change of heat.

"We-ll..." he said slowly. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I mean, her majesty didn't offer _me_ any new clothes."

"Are you sure you need new clothes?" Daine smirked, happy to play along now that the relief of actually confessing to him was glowing in her chest. "I'm sure your poor horse is worn out, dragging all your clothes back and forth."

"Finest Yamani silk hardly weighs a thing." He said, aloof and over-courtly. Daine shook her head.

"And what about those rocks you put on your fingers?"

"Thayet wouldn't buy me them, either." He looked pathetically woebegone for a second, turning one of his rings around on his finger. As soon as they were off the trail his courtly way of dressing had returned. Daine wondered if he only wore rings so that he had something to rest in between the pages of books to mark his place, since she was always finding them in her lesson books. Today he was only wearing one – a plain loop on his smallest finger. The girl wondered if he had shed all the others into books for their next lesson.

"Do you really want to go to Corus, Numair?" She asked. He glanced up and smiled.

"Yes and no, if I'm honest. I thought you might like it. Being cooped up here with me can't be fun. I can happily lose myself in my books for weeks without realising it, but you should be out there enjoying yourself."

"I don't feel cooped up." She reassured him, and then spoiled the sentiment by adding, "When you're bein' a dolt I can always go and talk to Cloud."

He smothered a short laugh and turned away.

"Next time," he said, "We're definitely going. Nice dress or not, Daine! If you turn into a bookworm I'll never live it down." He reached over and ruffled her hair, and then cupped her chin affectionately. "And I think I _will_ teach you how to dance, magelet, just in case that's something that's been worrying you too."

"You're going to turn me into a court bookworm." She murmured, and laughed at the mixture of amusement and alarm which her teacher pantomimed at that mental image.

The next night, before Daine went to bed, she checked her table in the workshop. There was always a book or two there, heaped up erratically as Numair found things which he thought she would enjoy and simply left them for her to find. Daine thought it was quite a nice gesture, although her teacher still didn't seem to grasp the fact that not everyone could read as fast as he could. Still, he had an unerring gift for finding the smallest paragraphs in the largest books, and when he wasn't being absentminded he even remembered to mark them before piling the books up into a teetering stack.

That night there wasn't a new book, but instead there was a scrap of parchment paper folded over into a lump. She picked it up curiously, even going so far as to risk sniffing it in case it was full of some herb. For all she knew it was filled with one of the magic ingredients which littered the workshop, hallways and even sometimes made it as far as the kitchen. Hadn't that made the first week interesting, when one of the powders almost made it as far as their food! 

It smelled of ink. Daine opened it carefully. There was another paper packet tucked inside, and the first one had something written on it. __

_To my court bookworm. Your kidnapper also thinks this arrangement works well. Next time we're going_ (that word was underlined twice) _and there will be no excuses - even from me!_

Daine smiled and kept reading. __

_This is a 'welcome home' gift guaranteed to match your pretty dress and wear out your grumpy pony._

She frowned and looked at the parcel. It was tiny, but with a jolt she realised what it must be. When she pressed the paper down it crumpled around the soft edges of a metal ring. When she unwrapped it the metal caught the light, gleaming with a softness that defied sharp steel or dull iron. A simple knot design was carved into it but there were no stones – nothing to catch against fur or get caught in nervous teeth, she realised with stunned happiness.

The note had one last thing to say, and she read it over and over again as she slipped the ring onto her finger.  
_  
Welcome home, Magelet._


	12. Marriage

For most of his adult life Numair saw marriage as a problem. Not the academic, easily solved kind of problem that he would spend hours reading about. It was, frankly, a pain in the neck, and it had been dogging him for years.

It was mostly Thayet's fault. Every few months she would come up to him with a gleam in her eyes and a spring in her step, and the words she used always made him cringe. "She's just dying to meet you..." or "Her father heard about you and now he's very keen..." or once, more embarrassing than anything else: "You're already sleeping with her, after all, so wouldn't it be sensible...?"

(Oh gods, and that had been just after Daine had confronted him with _I'm a midwife's daughter and I can see things and I'm sorry but, the woman you're with has..._ and _There's no way we're risking going all the way to Dunlath if you're so stupid you'll let yourself get sick..._ and _I swear if you don't go to a healer I'll go help the wolf pack on my own..._

He hadn't been able to make eye contact with either of them for days.)

Still. Marriage. A major part of the short list of things the women in his life seemed annoyingly obsessed with. It wasn't even as if he was looking for a wife.

Although... he may have earned a reputation as a womaniser.

He was quite surprised when he first heard the gossip, because honestly – who didn't prefer spending the night in someone else's arms? And no, he didn't seduce innocent women or lead them astray or any of those stupid phrases people whispered about him. They were all perfectly happy to do their own seducing, thank you very much! Some of them were even offended by the idea that they were so easily swayed, and stayed with him for far longer than their fleeting passion lasted simply to spite their audience. (Numair didn't complain too much about that, either.)

But that was beside the point. The matter at hand was that Thayet made marriage into a problem, and like all unsolvable riddles it started to irk the man.

He realised that it was upsetting him on a solstice feast, the summer after he and Daine had returned from Dunlath. Whispers of a truce with the Carthaki people were beginning and so he was already on edge. Worse, Daine had disappeared with one of her idiot rider boys, which meant that he was worried about what _she_ might get up to far more than whether or not anyone would link hands with him over the fires that night. Rather than dwell on either of those subjects, he stretched out his long legs under the shaky wooden trestle table and considered the physical pleasures of a rather large goblet of wine.

"Can you really turn people into trees?" A voice piped up. He looked around and saw a woman – young, but with that glimmer of experience which aged the eyes – looking at him with a speculative expression. He thought briefly about ignoring her, for it was the kind of question he hated. Then he realised who she was. For years now he had watched her across the fires, and seen the arch way that he was overlooked.

His position was odd. He was a member of the royal court, of course, and a mage is always respected. He had earned enough money to live well, and Jon had gifted him the tower and the tithing village nearby, which would have generously supported an entire family if he wished it. Having gained that fortune, Numair generally ignored it and lived in a few rooms in the palace. He spent a small amount of money on books and courtly clothes, and genuinely forgot that he was technically a landowner and a newly-named noble.

The other nobles didn't forget. They looked at him through narrowed eyes, seeing him as an upstart peasant with delusions of an education from a heathen country. They saw his jewels as pretentious and his books as some kind of pretence, as if he were just pretending to work on the arcane mysteries which permeated the crypts.

As always, he didn't notice their dislike of him until it was pointed out, and it was pointed out with the word 'marriage' attached and an apology. Thayet, most delicately, told him as many women who refused to consider marrying him as those who would.

This woman, with her curious eyes, was one of the people who despised him.

"I turned one man into a tree." He said shortly, "I suppose I could do it again, but I wouldn't want to."

"Why not?" Her eyes were wide. "They say you're the most powerful mage Tortall has ever seen. They say that your name will live forever for it."

"They can say what they like." He shrugged. "I wouldn't want my name remembered for how I destroyed someone's life."

Her lower lip stuck out then, a moue of distaste which he wasn't too drunk to see. "My father said that because you're so powerful, your name will live far longer than ours."

"So will the tree." Numair said rudely, and she reddened and stalked away. He returned to his drink angrily.

Thayet found him an hour or so later, and her beautiful eyes were too amused for her words to really sting. "That girl you scared off was sent by her father, you know."

"Really."

"Really. He asked her to try and make a match with you. Because they're the most powerful family here, it was his daughter who got that chance and none of the other girls were allowed to try."

"The others?" He gaped at her and looked around. Sure enough, there was a gaggle of women looking nervously at him and gossiping. "Dear gods, what's going on?"

"You turned someone into a tree." She shrugged and raised an eyebrow at him.

"They're interested in the Black Mage, then. They're not interested in me. They weren't when I was lower than them, and having a strong gift shouldn't make me any better or worse."

"Hm."Thayet patted his shoulder. "Don't drink too much more, my dear. It's making you morose."

And that was that. Suddenly, instead of just one friend urging him to consider making a bond with one of the noble families of Tortall, he was beset on all sides. Escaping to Carthak seemed almost like a blessing compared to that. But then – even then, when Varice took him back into her arms with the same casual love she had for making magical fancies – the thought irked him.

He was admired for what he could do, rather than who he was. How many of these people really knew him? Varice did, of course, but in the long years since they had shared a bed a distance had grown between their lives, and they no longer fit together as neatly as they once had.

The second person who really knew him was Daine, but she had started out knowing him as a powerful mage and as a teacher. She had grown to love him as a person but she had done that second, after her playful respect and careful awe of his mage-craft. He sometimes felt prouder of his friend when she scolded him out of a spell than he did when she finished a lesson well.

But still...

He asked Daine when they had been married for less than a week. The question came out impulsively as they were curled up together by the fire. Had she married him because of what he could do? She cut her eyes up at him, and then sighed and shut her eyes.

"It's getting late," she said, "Would you light the candles?"

He kissed the crown of her head and started getting up, and she swatted at him irritably. "Don't move! If your blasted child kicks me one more time I swear I'll kick you in revenge. Use your magic."

"I can't," Numair reminded her. "They'll just blow up."

"Gods, how useless." She smiled a little at his expression. "You can't ride a horse right or cook dinner without getting distracted by some book, either, and you spend more time preening in front of the mirror than I do. I didn't realise I was supposed to find a husband who was actually useful, or else I'd've probably found someone else."

He laughed and held her closer. "I can do other things quite well."

"You make a half-decent pillow." She agreed, and nestled against his shoulder. "For all that you're quite bony."

"I think I married you for all your compliments. I feel so loved right now."

"Oh, you are loved." She kissed him lightly and then pulled a face. "You're just useless."


	13. Seen from the Outside

Seen from the outside it _was_ scandalous, Jon had to admit. And he had known that even before the priest had started scolding him, but still, knowing it wasn't the same as admitting that it…might, maybe… if you really thought about it… perhaps… be becoming a problem.

"Which one of them do you want me to yell at first?" He finally snapped at the priest, his usual sardonic humour taken over somewhat by the way the greasy-bearded man was rabbiting on. "The one who can stop every Tortallan chicken from laying with a single word, or the one who can turn me into a _tree?"_

"Don't be so dramatic. You're the King." The man said, obsequious and curt. Jon folded his arms.

"Yes, how good of you to remember. I'm not their nursemaid, to scold them, any more than they would welcome your advice."

"But I am your advisor." The man said smoothly, and rested his hands on the edge of the desk. Jon opened his mouth to tell the priest to stand up straight, and then saw the smoky blue tattoos that crossed under the man's leather cuffs and thought better of it.

"I have reasons to believe that the… the gods don't disapprove." The king said it carefully, because when they had come back from the Realms both of his friends had begged him to keep their adventure a secret. Reluctantly, the priest nodded, and when he spoke the words came more slowly. A waft of sour incense sagged from the moistness of his woollen cloak as he waved an arm.

"That much, I admit, is true… true enough. We have not heard of divine displeasure, and indeed since the war has captivated all the great ones we would not expect them to worry over trivial things. The gods are not angered. But, the people…"

Jon sighed.

…ah yes. The people.

It was always the people, and when they were upset they muttered their woes first into the ears of their bartenders, and then into the ears of their priests. George had probably laughed off these same stories weeks ago and not thought them worth Jon's time, but of course the priests had rubbed their hands together over them.

They understood the thrall of humiliation and the way it could hang over even these happy days of peace like a stagnant cloud. They wouldn't want anything to happen to their rulers, of course, but to be the ones holding that cloud aloft must have been exhilarating for them. And now, now they had come to barter. And they acted as if it were all perfectly rational.

"I take it the people aren't happy." Jon said wearily, and beckoned for the priest to keep talking. The man barely managed to keep the smirk from his lips; it rippled a smudge of woad, but that was all. A sedate gloss returned to the man's placid jowls.

"She's one of their own, you see. If she had been a noble then they would have blamed her for the… the flaws in her character, but this is different. It looks like you're condoning it, sir. Noble women come into your charge to serve as handmaids to the queen, and they are cherished and their purity preserved, and everyone knows how well they are treated. Another girl comes into your charge, and she is not a noble but common stock. When she is barely even a woman she is given, unwed, to the first man who wants her."

"I didn't _give_ Daine…" Jon sounded aghast, and the priest waved a hand to cut him off.

"No, no, sir. Of course not. But when you found out you gave them shared palace rooms, you spoke to them as a couple in court, you did not show any displeasure. To wit, sir, you publically approved of the… the situation."

"I do approve." The other man snapped, and cut the priest off just as sharply as that vague hand-wave had done a moment before. "Of _that_ , sir, you can be absolutely certain."

"Approve of their matching all you like, sire." The bearded man forced himself to look a little bored, as if the king were a slow-thinking child. "But you must be aware of the whispers beyond it."

"They're just whispers."

"A thousand people whispering quickly becomes a roar, your majesty." The priest warned, and Jon felt the first throbbings of a vicious headache. It was true, but it shouldn't be. Not for something as natural as this. Why couldn't the people busy their minds with dealing with the Immortals, or tilling the blood-stained fields so that there wouldn't be a bad harvest? Why did they have to care about _this?_

"Why are you approaching me with this, rather than speaking to Daine or Numair?" He finally found the new train of thought. "They both go to temple often enough. They're closer to the gods than a lot of priests I could name, honestly. I'm sure you could have spoken to them quite easily."

The man hesitated. "They frighten me." He admitted. Then, with more energy: "You said it yourself, sir. One commands the animals and the other commands the Gift, and both are powerful enough to raze cities to the ground..."

"I didn't mean they'd actually turn anyone into a tree." Jon suddenly looked sheepish. "They're both pig-headed enough for me to hate the idea of starting this argument, but that's all. They both hate people thinking things like that, you know."

"Things that are true?"

"Things that are... well, things that they only do as a last resort." Jon sighed, and a thought occurred to him. "Does everyone see them like that?"

"A lot of them do," The priest looked thoughtful, seeing where the king's mind was taking him. "You want me to use that, sire?"

"Who else would they have ended up with, honestly?" Jon mused, thinking quickly. "It's not like it's a lie. Just pad it out a bit, make it sound like they're better off together than a possible threat to the rest of the world. Perhaps tell people that whenever they have a lover's tiff, I have to pay the servants extra because they have to scrub the magic burns off the walls and sand the claw marks off the floorboards."

"Gods, is that _true?"_ The priest blasphemed.

The king shrugged.

"It's none of your business if it's true or not, just like it's no-one's business what really happens between my friends. But if you must tell stories, you might as well tell dramatic ones."

Ah yes, the floor. That had only happened a few days ago...

It _had_ been true, but it had nothing to do with a quarrel. While both Daine and Numair were intensely private about their frequent arguments, they had found it much harder to hide the result of last Beltane. Two very shamefaced, hung-over mages knocked sheepishly at the king's apartment the next afternoon.

They managed to explain to Jon why they were leaving Corus for a week or so, while their room was repaired, and then their eyes met and they couldn't stop laughing. Between fits of laughter they explained... the heady mixture of new-found passion and too much liquor had...

"Let's just say we decided to try something new..." Numair had waved a hand, trying to dismiss the whole thing without detail. Daine hid a mischievous grin and raised an eyebrow at Jon, clearly enjoying embarrassing her lover.

"...and let's just say it was going _very_ well right up until the floor caught fire."

"Your floor's made of stone, isn't it?" Jon tried and failed not to laugh. Numair looked aloof.

"Well yes, which is why we stopped."

"Eventually." Daine chipped in, and Numair smiled ruefully at her. She turned her answering grin on Jon. "So... there isn't really a floor in our room any more, and we're very, very sorry."

"No you're not." Jon rolled his eyes at her when she pulled a face. "Is that it, then? I just have to pay for a new floor? You didn't turn the walls into water as well?"

"We hadn't got to that part yet," Daine muttered, and giggled when Numair blushed bright red and looked at her warningly. "Sorry, love."

"You really don't have a convincing apology, magelet." The man tweaked her nose and then looked up. "We really are sorry though, Jon. You know if you need either of us we're only going to be at the tower, and the speaking spell there should still be functioning, so hopefully it won't be too much of an inconvenience. And we'll pay for the damage, of course."

"And you'll promise me you won't lose control again." Jon said with sudden command in his tone. They both looked confused.

"We didn't hurt anyone." Numair replied, "We made sure we weren't near anyone else."

"You were near Daine." The king said, and when the girl looked a little angry he added. "You've been in our care since you were thirteen, Daine. If nothing else, think how much Alanna and Thayet would yell at me if I didn't say anything now."

"Thank you, but I'm safe." She caught Numair's hand and raised her chin a little defiantly. "You know Numair would never let anything happen to me. I swear he casts so many protection spells on me I should glow in the dark."

"What if you lose control? Either of you? It'd be far worse than just a floor." Jon asked, wishing he could sink into the floor but still keeping his fierce tone. Numair shook his head.

"No, Jon. You don't understand. The point is that... that we _can_ lose control. We're strong enough to protect each other and we trust each other enough to let our guard down. Yesterday we were drunk enough for it to go wrong, but neither of us was in any danger for a single second."

"Just the floor." Daine added, "Which was all stained from Numair's potion making anyway."

"And your animals, sweet."

"And the fire."

"Mostly the fire."

"I think we can say that the floor's pretty much _all_ fire, now."

"Alright, alright. If you'll stop finishing each other's sentences...!" Jon hid a smile and held up his other hand. "I think it'd be good for you to get away for a few weeks. I would say 'get this out of your system', but it's pretty obvious that's not going to happen."

"Who would want it to?" Daine returned with her usual quick humour, and then kissed the king on the cheek. "Thank you, Jon. For looking out for me, too, even if it's not needed."

... Jon wouldn't have recounted any of this to the priest, who looked too prudish to even hear about such things, much less have any understanding at all. Still, he did point out that both of the people the priest was complaining about weren't even in Corus. His own mischievous sense of fun pricked at him, though. Somehow, he managed to say that they were busy 'exploring new ground' without even cracking a smile.

"They won't be back for a few weeks." He finished.

The priest smiled.

"Well, that's good." He shrugged, "Any rumours will be all the more potent by the time they come back."

Jon hesitated. "I hope you won't tell too many tales. They really do hate it when people..."

"Just enough to change the whispers that are already being heard." The man reassured him, and then stood up straight. "Clearly there's nothing actually wrong, here. It'd just be impossible to convince people to believe that. Convincing them to be afraid, however, is something the servants of the gods have practiced to an art."

"You'd think they were gods themselves, the way you're talking." Jon tried to joke, and faltered when the man looked archly at him.

"That's one of the stories, too. One that I, personally, believe. I am not afraid of stories or shadows, your majesty, but I fear the gods. It is only proper."

Jon gaped at him, speechless, and the priest shrugged off the man's shock with the ease of sure knowledge.

"I will return to discuss it with the girl herself, when she returns from her... exploring." He bowed with dignity and left the room.


	14. What do you have to say?

Sometimes Kit thought she had been one of the first people to know.

Daine had finally come home after weeks of working in one of the Scanran refugee camps. The girl nearly cried when she saw her ward and for hours she wouldn't stop cuddling her. Kit nuzzled closer to the flat curve of the woman's belly and suddenly heard the rapid flutter of a second heartbeat.

She whistled curiously, and pressed her ear back again. Daine scratched her neck affectionately, and the dragon cooed at the ticklish sensation.

"What is it, Kit?" she asked, her voice a tired burr. She could finally relax, now that she was safe and at home. Kitten made a rapid chattering sound, but of course Daine couldn't follow it. She could work things out, but she had to have enough clues to know the topic. Kit pointed at her mother's stomach and asked a question with her eyes, but it was clear that the girl didn't understand.

"I'm sorry, love." Daine yawned and rubbed at her eyes. "I'm fair slow and sleepy. How about you ask me tomorrow?"

They went to bed, and a few hours later Kitten awoke with an indignant squawk when Daine suddenly sat bolt upright and pressed her palm to her stomach. Eyes wide in the darkness, the girl scrabbled with her other hand at her neck. Her fingers tangled in the single chain which hung there – one strong enough to hold the heavy silver claw which she always wore – but that was all her searching found.

 _"Oh!"_ said Daine.

888

"It's been far too long since I've seen you." Numair knew people were watching, but he still couldn't resist drawing her closer for a kiss which was heated enough for some passing soldiers to whistle and shout out catcalls. Daine blushed and laughed.

"Um, yeah. About that. It's been… A few weeks at least, hasn't it? More than a month. But not as many as two months. Maybe… six weeks? Seven?"

"Six." He smiled and ruffled her hair. "I'd tell you how many days, but if I recall correctly you teased me for keeping count last time we were apart."

"Oh, I'm not teasing…" she said quickly, and blushed again. Another group of soldiers wandered by, calling out lewd comments, and she looked away. "Numair, can we get out of this courtyard?"

"What's wrong?" he caught her chin, suddenly serious. Daine shook her head.

"Nothing's wrong. I just want to get away from here. Away from other people."

Kitten followed them at a distance, keeping her head low. She knew her mother's moods well enough to tell when Daine was being secretive. If she had been a human, the dragon thought snidely, she would have hidden her frank curiosity better than Numair was. He looked torn between confusion and amusement, although as always when Daine did something strange there was a hint of worry there, too. Daine seemed so unsure of herself that she couldn't even decide where she was going - as often as they found a secluded nook, she would decide that it wasn't private enough, or flinch away from a comfortable corner because someone spoke loudly in the next room.

"Is this private enough, Daine?" He asked finally, as if the words had forced their way from his lips. "Because unless you're planning on actually tunnelling into the ground or something next…?"

She turned and ran a hand through her hair, looking distracted but so utterly serious that the joke died half spoken. Numair caught her wrist. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Numair," she muttered, half to herself, and then squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I need you to tell me all those reasons why we should get married."

"What?" He burst out laughing. "After all the times you told me to stop pestering you, magelet? You do know I've been travelling for six days, don't you?"

"Please." She asked it gently, and took his hands in her own. "It's important. Please. I would wait until you've rested, really I would, but it's important."

"Alright." He smiled and stroked her cheek. The things that he said were familiar to both of them, but Daine's eyes still softened when she heard the eternal tenderness in his voice, "We should get married, Veralidaine Sarrasri, because you and I love each other more than… more than words, honestly, even my words. We should get married to tell the whole world and all of our friends that it's going to last for the rest of our lives. We both already know that. We want to share the rest of our lives together and be each other's family."

"Yes," she murmured, and her eyes shut. "That was it. They're good reasons."

"Clearly they're not brilliant," he said a little dryly, "Otherwise you'd agree."

"I always have agreed!" She retorted, with a touch of laughter in her voice. "You know if I said yes or no it wouldn't mean any of those things are less true. And you know that if I… if I said yes, I'll marry you, it'd be because I love you and because I've always planned to say yes, just… just that I haven't felt ready."

"I do know that," he sounded wary, but watched her closely when she took a deep breath and said:

"So if I said yes it'd for all those reasons first and front-most, but… but if you asked me to marry you again now I… I wouldn't rightly be thinking of those reasons."

Numair paled, and then went a little red, and when he tried to say anything he choked and tried to hide it with a laugh.

"If I took one thing from that bizarre comment, love, it's that you still need to tell me what's upset you."

She sighed and looked up at him. "Gods! Can't you just ask me to marry you first?"

"Why should I?" He returned, and then grinned ruefully at his own ironic stubbornness when she rolled her eyes at him. "What a charming expression, Miss Sarrasri. I am enraptured! Tell me, my love, will you…"

"Oh, if you're not going to be serious then I won't tell you anything at all." She huffed, suddenly frustrated. "I just didn't want to tell you before in case it made you think I was only agreeing because…" She bit the words off suddenly and shook her head, getting ready to storm away. "Forget it."

"Daine." Numair stopped her and his voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of iron in it. "I'm not going to propose to you when you're hiding something from me, especially not something that's clearly unnerved you so much you can't even talk about it without babbling. If you said yes to me tonight I'd be expecting you to change your mind by tomorrow."

"I won't." She said mulishly.

"Then tell me why, Daine. Tell me the truth."

She blinked at the ground, and her fingers unconsciously rose to begin playing with the claw necklace.

"In about eight months," she managed to whisper, "You're going to be a da."

He froze, and Daine looked up, her eyes shining. "I wanted to give you a chance to be a husband, first."

888

The second time was rather different, and Kitten didn't even have to sneak around to overhear it. Numair had been working on a project with some of the castle mages, which involved them fiddling with the chamber of the ordeal. They almost tiptoed around the room, treating it with deference and respect, and only their wide eyes showed the absolute awe they felt at the magic entity's great power.

A squire had died, they all knew it, and they also knew that there wasn't much to be done. The boy's parents were upset, though, and had demanded that the chamber be studied fully to make sure the boy's trial had been just… or at least, that his death had been reasonably painless. The other mages made some half-hearted effort, while Numair and Lindhall seized the chance to study the Chamber with open glee. For days they even slept in the room, comparing nightmares in the morning and even studying the goose bumps on their skin with ardent fascination. They both grew thinner and gaunt from the bad sleep, but the academic interest never failed.

Daine stopped by the chamber a few times but left as quickly as she could. She hated the odd growling sounds and smell of smoke that the room sent to her and the promise of nightmares that it held. She tried to urge her friends to at least sleep in their own rooms, but they were oblivious to the slow damage the Chamber might cause them. She had nightmares anyway, imagining long, dark trails of chaos burrowing into her husband's eyes until the whites turned black and oily.

"Come home," she tried again the next day, tugging at his hand. He frowned and shook her off, the gesture more absent than deliberately hurtful.

"I won't get another chance to do this, Daine." The patience in his voice was the worst thing, as if he were explaining something to Sarralyn rather than to his wife. Daine flinched back from that tone and found that she was suddenly furious.

"Fine." She snapped. "If you won't come home now then you just stay away, see if I care!"

For the next week she pointedly ignored the man, not even reminding the cooks to take him food or answering Sarralyn's babyish questions about where her da was. On the eighth day she was hurrying down the hallway towards the stables when she nearly tripped over something in the hallway. She skidded to a halt, shifting the weight of Kitten in her arms and the baby in her sling.

"They look heavy." The something said in a distant voice, and then it roused itself. "You should get one of those infant baskets."

"It's not worth it. Once I get to work she's fine sleeping in the hay." Daine answered automatically, and then put Kit down and leaned closer to the something's face. "Lindhall, you look terrible."

"Yes, I'm worn out." The man nodded slowly and blinked. It looked as if his eyes were rhimed with treacle, the lids moved so sluggishly. "I don't know how your husband does it."

"He does it like a selfish idiot." Daine muttered, taking out her handkerchief and wiping a fever-sweat from the man's brow. "He burns himself out and then I end up looking after him. And it looks like you're no different, Master Lindhall."

"It's very interesting work." Lindhall insisted. Daine kept her face completely blank.

"I'll help you to your rooms."

"No, I got myself into this state. I can get myself to my own bed." He smiled easily and waved her away, and the his expression turned more serious. "I couldn't convince him to stop when I did, Daine. You need to speak to him."

"I tried that." She looped her arm around his back and helped the man to his feet. He smiled gratefully and despite his previous words, didn't protest when she started walking him back along the corridor. Kit padded quietly at their feet, looking back curiously towards the chamber.

"There must be something you can say to him." Lindhall persisted, staggering as they rounded a corner. "You're his wife!"

"No, when he's in this mood I'm nothing." She said with bitterness clear in her voice. The man sighed.

"You are upset. I did wonder. You know that's not true."

"Do I?" Daine said impassively, and rapped on a wooden door. A maid opened it, and gaped in horror as her master was unceremoniously dumped into her care.

Kitten whistled a question, and Daine sighed when she looked down and saw the perplexed expression on the dragonet's face. "Yes, of course I'm going to do something. For all I know he's passed out in the fire and too tired to work out why his feet are on fire." She scowled and scrubbed at her face with one hand, thinking quickly.

Numair was not passed out, but his skin was so waxen it looked raw. He clearly hadn't changed his clothes since she had stopped bringing him spares, and the dirty fabric was crumpled and hung off his lanky form like a rag. Daine rolled her eyes, knowing he was too caught up writing up some report to even notice the door creaking open. As she watched, he shivered, scratched fitfully at his nose, and then returned to his work.

Well then.

Daine didn't bother saying hello, or even looking around the room at the huge array of magical things. She planted her hands on her hips and studied her husband in silence for a long time.

"Numair," she said, "I'm pregnant."

He barely looked up. "No you're not, you already had the baby, remember?"

"I'm fair sure we've slept together since then." She folded her arms and scowled at him. "Are you so caught up in your magical thoughts that I have to explain to you how this works? When an annoying dolt and a woman love each other very much…"

"Yes, yes." He muttered absently, and then a cold shock seemed to run through him and he shivered and looked up. "Wait… are you serious?"

Daine laughed and shook her head impatiently. "Gods, Numair, is that all you have to say? Well, forget I said anything. I shouldn't interrupt your precious work."

"Daine – "

She shook her head again and turned to leave. She'd made it out of the door before she heard him struggling to catch up, and when he caught her wrist his grip was so feeble she shook him off easily. Because it was Numair, and because his thoughts often made it out of his mouth before he considered what they might sound like, he demanded, "Daine, tell me you're lying."

She paled and kept walking, biting back a hurtful reply. Her words sounded clipped, terse, and tearful. "I'll not say another word to you until I'm home."

"I just meant..." he started, reddening as he remembered what he'd said, "I didn't mean I wouldn't want... I just thought it was a lie to get me to leave the... Daine, sweetling, please stop and talk to me."

Daine kept walking and without looking around, she said, "It hurts, doesn't it? Wanting just a few words and not even getting a sideways glance. It really, really hurts."

He fell silent, and when she risked a peep he looked deeply ashamed. Good. By then they had reached their home, and when Daine stopped to unlock the door she felt a hand cautiously touching her shoulder. This time she didn't shake it off, but she didn't acknowledge it. When he followed her into the room she locked the door behind him, opened the window, and threw the key out onto the grass.

"There." She said, dusting off her hands. "Even if you wanted to magic the lock open you'd have to get a few nights' sleep first."

He gaped at her, and then sank into a chair and looked up with an oddly impressed expression on his otherwise stunned face. "So it was a lie?"

She folded her arms and glared. "Numair Salmalin, if that's the only thing you've got to say to me I'll make sure they're the last words you ever utter."

He flushed. "Of course I'm sorry, Daine. You know I am. But I don't want to barter secrets for apologies. I've behaved badly whether you're pregnant or not, which... Daine, for the love of Mithros please tell me if you're really pregnant."

"I'm really pregnant." She said immediately. He breathed out in a rush and collapsed back against the chair. Unable to resist getting in one last gibe, Daine added, "...and you would have known that days ago, if you'd bothered to speak to me."

He held his hand out, and she took it. His skin was cold and clammy, but she didn't mind so much. While half of her mind was planning on lighting a fire and making some nourishing food, the other half was just happy that he was home.


	15. Meat

Numair privately told himself that the first time he had really felt like a husband had been on the day when he started craving bacon.

Meat had always been a delicate subject, of course, and Daine had lived with him for years before she officially took up residence in the tower as Mistress Salmalin. But those had been years where their lives danced around each other. They weren't woven together, and so sometimes they would eat game or fish together in the evenings, and sometimes he would make his way to the tavern in the nearby village and leave Daine to her own devices. It wasn't until their lives had fused into one that he realised that Daine would not eat some meats. She ate them in Corus - chicken, and mutton, and pork - but when they were in the tower she looked green at the very thought.

It was very much a part of Numair'a nature to ponder over a problem at length before he even asked Daine for her thoughts, and so it didn't occur to him to simply speak to his young wife. Instead, he decided to watch her closely, looking for clues. Unfortunately her routine began before dawn, which was a time of the day Numair preferred to leave to the imagination. Still, he forced his eyes to open when he felt her sit up, and blearily wondered if she ate strangely because she just woke up stupidly early. If that was the answer then he could go back to sleep! She smiled at him as she pulled on her roughspun work clothes, seeing his speculative expression.

"Are you getting up?" She wrinkled her nose humerously at his agonised groan. "That's what I thought you'd say: 'Urrrrrgh'. It's too early for you, isn't it?"

"Y's..." he mumbled, and yawned so dramatically he grazed his toes against the footboard. "I'll m'ke bre'kf'st..."

Her eyes widened and she hid a smile with one hand. "Alright," she said, looking intrigued. Normally she made food before she left for the early morning chores most animals demanded, and her husband would make sure there was a lunch waiting for when she got back. It was a fair routine which meant they still had a chance to bicker over who was making dinner most days.

Numair found one sock, slipped it on, and then decided that he would gladly suffer a cold foot if it meant he didn't have to look for his other sock. He immediately regretted this decision when he stepped into the kitchen. It was on the ground floor of the tower, so the fire could warm the entire building, and the bare stone floor was clammy underfoot. He yelped and hopped to the stove, gave the flint and kindling a cursory glance, and then sent a wash of flame into the cold logs of pine.

"I feel like I should applaud." Daine tilted her head sideways and sat down at the kitchen table, boots in hand. "But then I'd be askin' you to wake up early every day and light them."

"Maybe we should get a maid." The man tentatively put a foot down and winced. "And a warm carpet for this floor."

"I don't want a maid. The last one ran off screaming when that poor little bear cub came in with that awful cold. Remember? It took me hours to get him to calm down."

"During which time the maid moved to another village." Numair reminded her, and found some eggs and a pan. "I think she came off worse from it. And that bear sneezed on her to get her attention."

"He'd lost his voice!" Daine declared adamantly, ever ready to defend wild animals against the tame. "He was going to just nudge her with his paw, that was all, and the next thing he knew he sneezes. So his eyes are streaming with cold and a crazy woman is screaming after him with a frying pan in one hand and a sausage in the other! He told me he didn't know if she was going to feed him or fry him!"

Numair hid a chuckle and shook his head. He was stirring pepper into the scrambled eggs when there was a knock at the kitchen door. Daine opened it to reveal a tired looking man who held his cap nervously in his hands. His beard was moist with morning dew, and his boots were caked in filth.

"Serb!" Daine exclaimed, "What's wrong?"

"It's me pigs, Daine. They started birthing last night, but I ain't got owt but a lot of gruntin' from the black."

"Oh, poor Marigold," Daine sighed, and opened the door wider. "Come in, Serb. I'll fetch my pack and we'll head off. Have some breakfast!" she called back after him, heading out of the door towards the stables. Serb hesitated, and finally stepped over the threshold and pulled the door closed behind him. He glanced up at the high vaulted roof as if he was afraid it might crush him.

"Sit down," Numair offered from the fire. Serb jumped and twisted his hat in agitation.

"Oh, I didn't see yeh there, m'lord! I beg your pardon!" And he bowed so many times that he must have been quite dizzy. Numair gaped at him. Alright, so he rarely spoke to any of the local farmers, but he felt as if he knew them because Daine talked about them so often. Serb had spoken to Daine in such a casual, familar manner that it was clear he saw her as an equal. But Numair...

... perhaps that was the clue Numair had been missing. Daine was almost two people. She left the house nearly every day to work with these people, and then she came home and changed out of her soiled work clothes into a dress, and talked about books and magic with her husband. Then they would move away for months and live in the riders' barracks or in the palace, or camp in the dirt at the side of a trail. It seemed perfectly normal to Daine to wear silks one minute and sackcloth the next, because it had been her life since she was a child. Now she could move from one life to another without a aecond thought. But it must have unnerved the local men and women who only felt like they could approach Daine when she wasn't being Mistress Salmalin of the Tower.

With a strange, empty feeling, Numair remembered that most of these people hadn't even come to their wedding. They'd been invited, but they hadn't been there. Daine had been a little hurt by that, but Numair understood how they felt. Seeing her married in a green silk dress, with her hands guided by the king of Tortall and the emperor of Carthak listening through a speaking spell, they would not have seen their friend. It would have proven that she was something else, and they would have felt uncomfortable working with her. Daine moved so easily between nobles and peasants that it never occurred to her that others might not feel the same. In a way, keeping her as a Daine and not a wife was the most affectionate thing her friends here could do.

"Please sit down," he said, and grinned ruefully. "If you have some eggs then maybe she'll actually eat some breakfast before she runs off."

The man looked levelly at him, and then sniffed the air and smirked. "You've burned the toast, m'lord. And you're only wearing one sock." With that declaration, he relaxed and sat down at the table. Numair scraped the burned edges off some toast and doled out the eggs between three plates.

"I'm not a morning person," he explained, and took out some of his anguish on a large bite of long-suffering toast. The farmer raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Still morning, issit sir?" He looked around and shrugged, "I've been up all noght. Birthin' pigs can be a proper curse from chaos, and no mistake. But you wouldn't know owt about that, sir."

"Daine's told me often enough," Numair nudged his wife's plate a little closer to the range to keep it warm. At the man's surprised sound, he spread his hands expressively and winced as the motion sent his toast crust flying. One of the many dogs who napped in the kitchen snapped it up, and the man continued: "She's out for all hours at lambing, and when cattle are born - although this isn't really cow country, but when we're in Pirate's Swoop that's what she ends up doing. When we were fighting in Scanra most of the camps had a few pigs eating up their scraps. Well, if you have two pigs, you're going to try to make two more, right? It was so strange seeing Daine caring for warhorses and courier pidgeons one minute, and the next up to her elbows in... er... "

The farmer laughed and nodded approvingly. "Ah, now we see you're used to the polite folks, sir."

"Perhaps I don't want to describe my wife wallowing in excrement, sir." Numair retorted, with exactly the same shade of sycophantic politeness. The farmer guffawed and slapped him on the back.

"I think he's blaming me for how early it is," Daine cut in, from behind them. "That's why he used the word 'perhaps'."

"And I'm eating breakfast, which is why I used the word 'excrement', magelet." Numair said sweetly, and passed her the spare plate. Daine glanced at Serb sitting in her chair and shrugged, perching on her husband's knee instead. Her feet dangled off the ground from the extra height, and she couldn't get her own knees under the table, but she seemed happy enough.

"I'll be quick," She promised Serb, picking up her toast. "I know you said it's been going on all night, but I still want to get to Marigold as soon as possible. She lost all her energy after Billy died."

"Who's Billy? What happened to him?" Numair sounded a little guilty, thinking that the farmer's son had met with some accident. Serb looked across the table and grinned slowly.

"D'you ever buy sausages from Riversend, m'lord?"

"Ugh." Daine pushed her plate away, and that was it. The mystery was solved. She wouldn't eat local meat because she knew all the local animals by name. It was as appaling to her as asking another person to eat a beloved pet dog. She could turn off her magic to hunt but she couldn't turn off the memories of birthing piglets, nursing them through spring fever and seeing them grow with fat health.

"No," Numair said, answering Serb's question. "We don't buy sausages any more." He felt Daine tense a little on his knee, and then she turned to look speculatively at him. Because there was someone else in the room she did not say anything, but she read his expression correctly, and she smiled.

"I'll be home when the piglets are all born," she told him, adding a little apologetically, "I'm not sure how late it'll be."

"I'll being you some lunch, then." Numair offered. Seeing her look of surprise, he shrugged and kept his voice light, as if he were joking. "I think it's about time I ventured into your life from time to time, magelet."

"If you like," Daine managed, but a shy look of happiness crept into her eyes. Careful not to let Serb see, she caught her husband's hand and squeezed it. "I'll see you later, then."


	16. Distrust

_Distrust,_ Numair wrote, _appears to run tangentally with the Gift in those possessed of Wild Magic._ He paused, sucked the end of his quill thoughtfully, and then slowly added: _Such an excess of paranoia is quite excusable when considered as a component of the animal psyche, particularly that of the prey. Such an observation leads to the intriguing concept that a Wild Mage does not naturally incline towards a predatory instinct. This reasoning argues against the folk-fears around wild magic, particularly those which led to the genocide of the Carthaki Mages in the Negla Era, circa..._

"Numair?" he heard the interruption before he processed the speaker, and scowled as he lowered the pen. The speaker must have heard him, because her voice changed to something quieter and more fearful. "I'm sorry for disturbing you so late, b...but..."

"Daine," he sighed and scrubbed at his face, wishing he could erase the impatient scowl she had seen there. "I'm sorry. I was..." he gestured at the table, and his voice tailed off when he realised she might be offended by his subject matter. Biting his tongue, he gestured for her to come into the tent while he smoothly slid another over his writing. The girl crept in, although as always she stood awkwardly to one side. Something pathetic was dangling from her hands.

"Is that another animal?" Numair asked. She nodded, clutching her hands a little tighter to her chest. He thought about asking her if this was going to happen every night from now on, but lingering guilt made him say instead, "I suppose lots of animals get hurt, being hunted in the woods I mean."

She reddened, and he knew that the unconscious barbs in his meandering comment had been understood. "I guess they do, but she wasn't." She held out her hands and he could see the heavy weight of a slender otter. One of the creature's chubby cheeks rested on the girl's forearm, and her webbed claws dug into Daine'a wrist. A fishing hook was embedded in her shoulder, and the thin twine had dug into her flesh where she'd struggled to break free. Daine quietened the weeping creature with a shaking hand and added, "Not many predators use fishing line, except humans. So I figure I should make it right."

"Alright," He agreed, taking out his belt knife and handing it to her. When she had cut away the twine fresh blood bloomed from where it had bitten into the skin, and the girl cried out. Numair caught Daine's shoulder, pretending not to notice her unconscious recoil as he spoke in a level voice.

"Don't panic. Just breathe steadily. Getting upset isn't going to help her." The teacher-voice he used was quite stern, and Daine bit her lip and nodded. Sitting cross legged on the floor, she drew a deep breath and then started to calm down. In her hands, the wailing otter grew oddly still.

"That's it," Numair knelt beside them, feeling oddly proud of his student. She had only ever tried this once before, and that had been only last night. She must have been tired, and she was definitely upset, but she found her magic with clumsy skill. When she sank deep into her meditation her hands uncurled a little, and the otter stretched out luxuriously in the space.

Numair kept watch for half an hour, until their frozen calm was so complete they might have been statues. Then, turning his chair so he could still see out of the corner of his eye, he returned to work.

It was difficult.

He was writing about wild magic because it was a form of magic which had been utterly unseen for centuries. People needed to know about it, or at least to believe in it! But he had no idea what he was writing about. The problem was that he had a research group of one. He had no way of telling whether his observations were coming from Daine's magic or her past. If they were from her past then his heart bled for her, because it meant she must have seen things no child should ever endure. In an odd way he hoped that her rapid mood swings came from her untamed gift, because at least then it meant that her own heart hadn't been ripped to shreds. But that was a problem as well, since if her magic made her angry, or wild...

People had always had a deep-rooted dislike of shape shifters. They saw them as dangerous. Even now, when wild magic had died out through genocide or inbreeding or whatever horrendous jokes history had played on Daine's kinfolk, people disliked the idea of human and animal in the same body. Perhaps it was partly because of their mythical ability to change their form. Only the most powerful mages could change their shape. With that kind of power a mage could level mountains and burn villages into ashes. How much more deadly was a person who could command animals at will?

Numair glanced at the girl sitting on the cold tent ground and moved the brazier a little closer to her. He had no idea if Daine could change her shape. He was introducing new ideas to her in careful stages. Even when Daine seemed confident enough to do something he still waited, because the last time she had ventured ahead on her own Cloud had stormed into the castle and knocked her sprawling. If the animals did not want her to do something, for whatever reason, then Numair thought it was best to trust their judgement. He frowned and glanced back at his notes. Wait - did that mean that he thought of her as one of the animals, and not a human?

No. He shook his head, even in silence. Of course he didn't think that. But even as a human, Daine was fragile. She was haunted by distrust - a tiny, damaged child thrust into an adult world. As thick as his academic curiosity was about her, Numair hesitated at intruding into her life. A burning home and a slaughtered family would not suffer the indignity of his asking why she kept so many secrets from her human friends, and yet hid nothing from her pony. She was unspeakably human in that respect. Her sorrow was raw, and angry, and precarious. He was frightened of tipping her over the edge.

Daine sighed, and Numair realised that he had not written a single word.

888

"Distrust?" Alanna shoved the paper back at him and knocked over the inkwell for good measure. "Bother the gift, maybe she's just noticed you spying on her."

"I don't spy, I observe." Numair said dryly, rescuing the papers and most of the ink. The rest he touched with one long finger, and it turned into water. Alanna chuckled.

"I should tell that one to George." Her expression grew more serious. "Be honest with me, Numair - did you agree to teach Daine for any other reason than because you were interested in her magic?"

"Of course!" He replied instantly, shocked. "It's the least I could do. She saved my life!"

"So thats all?" Alanna tilted her head to one side. "Feeling like you owe her a debt makes you a good friend, does it?"

Numair spread his hands in defeat. "I do like her." He admitted. "I usually can't understand children, but she's bright and quick, and she takes important things seriously."

"Important things... like magic." Alanna prompted, unrepentant. Numair nodded eventually, raising his chin defiantly. It was a peculiar action, as he had unconsciously picked it up from Daine herself.

"At first that was it... and the debt. I'll admit that. But now I know her a little better and I'm fond of her."

"And so it hurts your feelings that she doesn't trust you." Alanna concluded. "Oh come on, Numair, stop trying to argue. 'Daine is a prey animal'... honestly! You like her, so you've just got your precious feelings all hurt because she keeps secrets from you."

He snatched back the papers, looking flustered. "I'm being absolutely objective," He muttered. Alanna crowed out a mocking laugh.

"If that's true, go and tell Daine right now. Tell her in your high-and-mighty-mage voice that she has a... what was it? Excess of paranoia? She won't dare argue with your oh-so-scientific observations." She folded her arms, nearly shouting now. "And if she doesn't slap you I cussed well will, you arrogant ass!"

888

"Distrust?" Daine whispered to herself, and then glanced over at the bed. In no mood to be gentle, she threw herself down next to the sleeping mass there and poked him firmly between his shoulderblades. He woke up with a yelp.

"Gods, Daine, your hands are like ice!"

She didn't answer, but thrust the sheaf of papers at him. He batted them away clumsily, and then pushed himself up on his arms. Before he could register what she was waving around, he heard Daine's voice again.

"Is this what you really thought about me? Mithros' spear, Numair, I should've shoved you off a cliff at Pirate's Swoop!"

"It was before we got there..." he started, and ducked when she hurled the papers at him.

"I would've walked faster, then! How dare you?"

"I was just thinking out loud," he protested, "And I took all of that out of the book before it was printed. I... you've seen the book I wrote about you, Daine. There's nothing like that in there, is there?"

"No," she said, slightly mollified, "But..."

"Alanna told me I either had to tell you, or take it out altogether." Numair grinned ruefully. "Well, she shouted it at me. So I took it out."

"But you kept it." She sounded hurt. "I know it took me a fair long while to trust you, Numair, but to make it in to some... some mage experiment when I was just grieving is..."

"I know. I was wrong." He said quietly, and caught her shoulder. "But there's a reason. Did you see what else I wrote there, about the genocide?"

Daine gave him an odd look, as if he were trying to dodge a fight, and grudgingly nodded. He took a deep breath, and continued. "Well, no-one knows why wild magic really died out, but we do know that hundreds of years ago there was a witch-hunt in Carthak. The people there were terrified of wild magic, although we don't know if there was a reason for that. It could have been one gang of rogue mages making their fears legitimate, or one person spreading vicious rumours. We can't tell why, we just know that soon the rabble were up in arms, tearing wild mages from their homes and families and... Anyway, the ones who escaped joined the Banjiku tribes. The ones who stayed in the cities were... not so lucky."

"Not so lucky," Daine echoed, and shivered. "What did they...?"

"If we had stayed longer in Carthak," Numair said carefully, "You might have seen the smaller hall of bones. The skulls there are not animals, nor are they human, and they are blackened and warped by magefire."

Daine stared at her hands, her eyes horrified. She understood in an instant. "They didn't even have time to shift."

"No." He looked away. "It was what made me wonder what wild magic really was. I remember seeing those skulls in a class, with Ozorne crowing over his ancestor's victory on one side and Lindhall being very sober on the other. He asked us to look closely at these formidable foes, these violent horrors of the past. Ozorne saw only twisted magic, but I saw that they were mostly prey animals. Rabbits, deer, small birds..."

"They were just trying to escape, not fight." Daine finished, and looked back at the crumpled paper she had thrown at her teacher. "What does that have to do with...?"

"I wondered if it was part of the magic, to prefer to run than to fight. If that were true, then it meant that Ozorne's ancestors committed genocide, and not defence. The thought of those sad, twisted skulls turning into dust for centuries is horrible to me. But to get them a proper burial, I'd need to prove they deserve it. And then I found you." He gathered up the papers and finished a little shortly. "For a few weeks, watching a frightened, shy little girl struggling to hide her magic, I thought I was right. Then I got to know you better." He shrugged and tossed the papers to the floor. Daine watched him, struggling to wrap her head around all of this.

"Maybe I'm not the same kind of wild mage." She offered. "Mine comes from my da."

"Telling the world you're a demigod is not something I would do to prove myself right."

"Wow, that's a first. And don't call me that." Daine added with a wince. "You know I'm not."

"Well, technically..."

"You can leave your technicallys to rot in chaos, Numair Salmalin. I'm still not happy you wrote this about me, so don't you be getting smart with me."

"Yes ma'am." He murmured, startling a laugh from her. Softening a little, she asked,

"Are those skulls still there?"

"If Kaddar hasn't moved them." Numair shrugged. Daine chewed on her lip.

"It's sad."

He nodded rather fervently, and Daine sighed and lay back, resting against his knees. For a while she was quiet, although she chewed so much on her lip it seemed in danger of bleeding, and her hands thrummed thoughtfully on the blanket. Finally, as if to herself, she said, "Well, you'd only be lying about one person if you printed it. That's better than lying about hundreds and hundreds, and I guess I don't mind being embarrassed if I get to watch Alanna exploding at you."

"Are you sure?" Numair sat bolt upright, hardly daring to breathe. She nodded tersely, and then stood up.

"I should be angrier. I am angry. But then, if you'd told me that story when I was thirteen I might never have told you my story. I mean, just thinking that you were studying me, because centuries ago mages from Carthak burned wild mages alive..." She shuddered and looked down at him, hands on hips as she looked exasperated. "I would never have trusted you again."

"You went through my papers," he commented in a strangled voice. Daine huffed an outraged note, threw her hands in the air, and stormed out of the room.


	17. REQUESTS?

This is a little unconventional, please forgive me!

Yesterday Queen Lily Tiger Ellyessa posted a review on FFN with a request, and it got me thinking. I've never done one-shot requests before, but I think it might be fun.

So! Review or comment with any requests for scenes. I'll take anything from a certain time frame to "make them turn into pugs after throwing frogspawn at each other" and I'll see what I can do. As you've probably all worked out by now, I love writing D/N under ANY circumstances. ;-) I'll thank the requestee at the start of each fic and link to your profile/story of choice on either fic community. :-)

While I'm here, since I don't usually write A/N stuff: Thank you all so, so much for your reviews, faves, kudos (on A03) and general awesomeness on all my stories. I'm so glad people get as much enjoyment out of reading them as I do writing them. Artificially Intelligent, Sandra, Mirabar, Suoaei and Sarcastic Green Crayon (and any others whose names I don't immediately recall, for which I am truly sorry and deserve entrapment in spidren web with an itchy nose) I always look forward to your comments, feedback and anything that makes me smile, cringe and vow to become a better writer. Thank you!

So... send me your requests!

\- Viv (sivvus)


	18. 17: Complicated

Request One-Shot for Lettuce Lover on A03.

"The problem with you," Daine said, carefully tucking Kitten into her satchel, "Is the way you always make things ridiculously complicated."

Numair looked a little offended. "I fail to see how I'm the one making this complicated." He said stiffly. "After all, I'm not the one hiding a dragon."

"It's not Kit's fault, either!" Daine exclaimed, with an echoing squawk from the bag. "You agreed I could bring her along while we search the border villages. Then you keep trying to witch her, or make her invisible, just so no-one realises who we are. You know dragon magic backfires really dramatically...!"

Numair winced and hid his singed hand behind his back. He had only found out that particular piece of dragon trivia the day before, and Daine's mockery hurt almost as much as the burn. He let her tease him, as she had been nearly inseparable from the tiny dragon since they had returned from Carthak, but her words still irked him more than they should. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "How would _you_ hide her then, mistress-rogue? If you can keep a single snooping maid from seeing her the whole time we're here, I'll eat my spell tome."

She tossed her hair back and scowled at him. "Watch me." She snapped, and strode through the bailey gate into the small town. Sauntering up to the inn, she waited impatiently for her teacher to catch up, and then flashed him a wicked smile.

"What am I watching, Daine?" He asked in a low voice. Still smiling, the girl looped her arm through his and half-dragged him through the door.

"We'd like a room," She announced brightly, still wearing that impossible grin. The innkeeper brushed her hands down her woolen apron and looked the visitor up and down, and then glanced at the man who looked rather uncomfortable beside her.

"A room?" She echoed, and then an equally false smile plastered itself across her face. "Just the one, sir?"

Numair flushed a deep red. "We..."

"...just got married," Daine declared, and laughed loudly at the look of horror on Numair's face. "I'm sorry, love, I'm just so... happy!" She leaned a little closer to the innkeeper. "He's so used to keeping our love a secret, ma'am. Isn't he adorable? He blushed just as red in front of the priest.""

The innkeeper cleared her throat. "Aren't you a little... young?" She whispered back. Daine bit her lip, blushing innocently.

"Well yes ma'am, my birthday was just last week. It's why we eloped. We thought this village... so out of the way, you know, and we were sure the people here would understand."

"I'm sure," the woman said weakly, disarmed in front of Daine's look of love-starved hope. "We're quite discrete."

Daine laughed again, "I'm so glad!" She turned to Numair and a pointed note crept into her voice. "You hear that, husband? _Discrete_!" And throwing her arms around his shoulders, she playfully planted a kiss on his cheek. To her surprise the man caught her before she could dart away again.

With strong arms closing tightly around her waist, he held her close for a moment and lowered his lips slowly to her ear. "I'm going to murder you." He murmured, and then let her go.

Daine resisted an urge to pull a face at him, but some of her mischevous playfulness faded, and she turned back to the innkeeper. She took out a handful of coppers from her beltpurse, and held them over with a smile that was only a little less self-assured than before.

"Top of the stairs. Two floors up." The woman said shortly, and turned away.

They climbed the narrow stairs with the tired steps of people who have been walking for days, Daine going first. From behind her, she heard Numair comment in a half-choked, half laughing voice. "I fail to see how this is going to make things less complicated." She didn't answer, and after a moment he added. "And we've only got one room, thanks to you."

"But I won our bet." She retorted. "You should unpack your spell book first, _husband."_

He laughed, and when she looked around he shook his finger reprovingly at her. "You have two whole days left before you win anything, _wife."_

888

"You can have the bed," Daine said, absently unrolling her blanket beside the fire. "You'll be able to stretch out, and me and Kit get to be near the fire."

"I'm too tired to argue," Numair said, throwing himself backwards. "Gods, Daine, why do all these weak spots in the barrier have to be at the top of mountains?"

Daine smiled but didn't answer. They'd already had quite a long talk about the differences between mountains and hills. To her Gallan eyes this town was definitely the latter, but compared to the rolling deserts of Carthak she supposed it must be quite tiring. They had brought mountain picks and shoe-points with them, just in case, but she doubted they would need to use them. Numair had said the next weakness his gift could detect was only a few more miles up the slope, and the snow was barely even frosting the ground there.

In a way Daine was uncomfortable lying to the townsfolk about who they really were. She and Numair weren't spying on them, they just knew that if the people knew who they were, they might begin to panic about hordes of immortals breaking through from the Divine Realms into their towns. They couldn't really warn them or ask them to move, because for every fifty weaknesses they found there were only two or three nests to destroy. But that was so far. Numair said the barrier was growing weaker and weaker. Soon, these towns would be overrun. But when they were, so too would thousands of other settlements be. People would run away from the threat of future danger, leaving their homes and farms and families, and probably end up next to another danger spot after all.

In a way, the bet made her feel a little better. It didn't feel like she was lying to the innkeeper, it felt like she was playing a game with her best friend. And she adored teasing him when long travel made him turn surly, and his mind began to wander wistfully away from her and towards ancient old spells. Teasing him made him turn back into her friend, and not some grumpy mage she just happened to walk with.

"Numair," She said suddenly, "Are you asleep?"

"Someone keeps waking me up." He grumbled, and opened one eye to glare at her. "What is it?"

She hid a smile. "You should jump on the bed some before you doze off."

He opened the other eye, and then understood her meaning and covered his face with his hands. She had no way of telling whether the noise he made was frustration or laughter, so she persisted, "I won't lose my bet just because you're too idle to play along, you know."

"Mithross, Mynoss and... Hag, Daine!" He amended his cursing at the last minute and rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket fiercely up over his shoulder. "This is me being realistic. I'm actually very quiet in bed."

"Well... well maybe I'm not!"

He didn't bother looking around, but his voice sounded odd. "You don't actually know that, and I don't want to know that. I want to go to sleep."

She scowled and stalked over to the bed to steal a pillow. In a voice that probably would have carried, if anyone was eavesdropping, she told his huddled form, "You're such a disappointment."

He laughed darkly, eyes still shut. "In that respect, magelet, I'm being very _un_ realistic."

888

The newlyweds left to walk together in the mountains early the next morning, and the townsfolk watched them go with speculative eyes. The discrete innkeeper had visited the tavern late the night before, eager to trade stories of the newcomers for flagon after flagon of the watery, over-sweet mead which the barkeep sold. They dismissed half her stories as nonsense, but nonetheless even the most aching heads dragged themselves from their beds the next morning for a glimpse.

Those that missed the strangers' ascent, however, were wide awake several hours later when the sky was ripped apart by a roar of sound. Thousands of birds flew screaming towards the caves at the peak of the hill, and then sped away again mere minutes later with a combined shriek. The villages watched, hearts in their mouths as nothing happened.

Nothing, nothing... nothing…

And then, with the groaning sigh of a yawning giant, a great redwood high on a rock face slowly toppled over. Then another, lower down, and another, until they were toppling like stacked tiles across the hillside. The villagers felt the ground tremble underfoot and ran for cover, thinking that the gods had sent an earthquake. Only a few remained outside, still watching the hill, and it was they who saw the newlyweds return.

They walked oddly, and for a horrifying second they appeared to be one creature, not two. One creature with two arms and four legs, two heads lolling dizzily left and right, and a lopsided torso which looked ready to collapse. Then they came closer, and the villagers could make out their features. The girl and her husband held each other upright, staggering and slipping in the mud, urging each other on with croaking, exhausted voices. When they reached the town and stumbled towards the inn the innkeeper shrieked, seeing that amongst the mud were bright streaks of scarlet blood.

"We're fine," The girl muttered, too weary to look her in the eye. "We're just tired."

"What's all... what were you doing?" The woman demanded. Daine looked down at her clothes and blearily managed one word,

"Fishing."

How they made it up the stairs they never knew, but when Kitten's concerned chirp greeted them they both suddenly found it difficult to stand. Daine started for her bedroll, but Numair caught her arm and stopped her. When he stumbled to the bed and sat down she flopped down with him, too tired to do much except make an enquiring noise.

"I won't let you sleep... three days onna floor." He slurred, kicking his boots off. "You'll need prop'r rest."

She made a resigned noise and sank into the sheets, groaning loudly when he pulled her upright. Seeing that she was too tired to be reasoned with, Numair clumsily unlaced her tunic and tugged it over her protesting head. It was soaked with cold mud, but he was more worried about the blood stains. For a few horrifying minutes Daine had disappeared in a whirlwind of animals and immortals. It wasn't until he had drained the energy from the roots of the trees and hurled it wildly at the lead stormwing's silvery barrier spell that he had been able to reach her, and by then he couldn't tell whose blood had been slathered across her body.

He tugged up her shirt and examined her skin. To his relief she seemed unhurt apart from a few scrapes, which would heal cleanly enough. She muttered something and lolled against his shoulder, her head falling into the crook of his neck. For a moment he froze. Half of his mind was suddenly relieved, so relieved, that she was alive and unhurt. That part of his mind wrapped his arm around her back and made him listen to every soft intake of breath. The other half of his mind was embarrassed, because he was keenly aware of the fact that she was in his arms, in his bed, and that he had stripped her half-naked without a thought for her own embarrasment.

"I'm sorry, Daine," he whispered, wanting to explain to her that he wouldn't normally do that. She twisted her spine - not to pull away, but to get more comfortable.

"Those poor trees," she replied in a sad burr. He gaped at her, completely lost for a moment, and then understood. Gods, she thought he was apologising for draining the trees? He struggled to get his exhausted mind to form words, and when he drew a deep breath she made an irritated sigh and flung her arm out. After a weak, fumbling moment she found his hand and relaxed.

"Ssh." She murmured, and tugged feebly at his hand. "Let's go t' bed, 'mair."

He let her hand go as if he had been stung, and remembered himself in time to ease her back against the pillows. Gods, why did she have to put it like that? She could have said 'let's go to sleep', but instead she sounded like a... like a coquette, coaxing him into her bed.

He flinched and looked down, feeling deeply ashamed of himself. He knew that he was tired, and his mind was whirling with the trick she'd played on the innkeeper, and his worry about her being hurt. There was nothing else he should be thinking about. There was certainly nothing tempting about a bruised young woman with mud in her hair.

He stripped his own muddy shirt off, and wrapped his handkerchief around a laceration on his arm, and found his eyes wandering back to Daine far more often than they should. Curse it, he'd made it worse by telling himself off about it. Now he felt ashamed, and nothing was actually wrong here.

And if it was wrong then it was entirely Daine's doing, making sure they only had one bed.

He frowned, recalling the way she had thrown her arms around him and kissed his cheek. Had she done this on purpose? He had been too tired to think about if past being annoyed at her, but... but...

For the first time, he looked down at her and let himself wonder what it would be like, if something did happen between them. What kind of something would happen between a tired old mage and a girl with mud in her hair? He was so used to brushing off comments about it from other people that he'd never stopped and thought about it. He certainly never consulted his own feelings. It was just something impossible, like learning to jump over the moon or... or having breakfast with the gods.

But if it were possible, he thought, he might think that she was quite pretty. He might look at her, sleeping with one hand pressed against her throat, and admit that the line of her chin was striking, and her fingers were elegant. He might think about how her eyes shone, and look forward to her waking up so he could see them again.

But he wouldn't admit any of that, so instead he lay down beside her and curled up and obstinately stared at the cable stitching on the blanket, and found out that his thoughts would not let his exhausted body rest. He was too much of an academic to fall asleep with so many unanswered thoughts in his head. Come on, admit one of them, his mind coaxed him.

Groaning a curse, he opened his eyes again and found that Daine had rolled over, her hand now pillowing her head as she slept. He cautiously stroked the side of her face, and his treachorous mind made him remember the impulsive way she had kissed him the day before. What would it feel like to kiss her back?

"I'm only doing this so I can sleep," he lied in a whisper, and leaned forward just enough to brush his lips against her own. She sighed in her sleep and her lips parted, and he had to drag himself back before the sudden, unexpected rush of energy in his veins made him kiss her again.

He stared at her in absolute, stunned disbelief. Then he turned on his back, away from her, and wished his whirling mind was not suddenly so silent. "Please tell me what that means." He pleaded silently, bitterly, "You must be able to see it."

For the first time, his mind had nothing to say. He tried to cover his face with one hand and realised that Daine's hand had gently curved around his fingertips. Swallowing back the panicked lump in his throat, he covered her hand with his other palm and kissed her forehead before resting his own against it and closing his eyes.

It felt nice. Warm, and comfortable, and safe, and nice. Nothing else. It didn't need to be anything else.

Answers, he thought, could wait.


	19. Blanc-Vallon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a request is by 'Guest' on FFN (sorry, I can't link to your profile without your name!) They requested either a modern or a regency era D/N fic. As an experiment I tried writing the first part of Wild Magic in that era, using a mixture of Austen and Gaskell's writing styles. Thanks for the request, Guest, this was actually a lot of fun! Since I can't link to your work I'm going to recommend everyone read Gaskell's 'Wives and Daughters'. It's a great satire and has some lovely characters.

The provincial town of Blanc-Vallon, Gallé, was unremarkable for two reasons. Foremose among these was its splendour of outlook, whose beauteous views would surely have placed the town on fashionable maps were it not for the steep ascent even to its lowest reaches. Thus unmentionable in one respect, it added to its lack of charm by the general apathy of its residents, and by its possession of neither the provincial charm of a local winery or an eponymous _fromage._ The town was as often unrecalled as unremarked. The residents, having no recourse to fame, resorted to pride in their mortal translucency. As passed the years, so too did generations of families whose tombstones proudly refused even the opacity of forenames.

Under such conditions, it would have been of great dismay to the townsfolk to learn that the sole remarkable incident which was to reveal Blanc-Vallon to the world was to be committed by the natural-born daughter of their resident midwife.

Children, remarkable or otherwise, must always be welcomed into the world by strong hands and stronger words, and the midwife had endured enough curses in her career to bear her child without outright assault to her person. The child, being a dark waif with colourless eyes, was granted no such reprieve. Her name became a weapon, hurled against her with spittle and lettuce leaves in its wake, until she declared it unfit for its purpose. From thence she would answer only to her given name of Veralidaine, and scorned those who would summon her in lesser words.

This individuality of person grew into a strength of spirit surpassing any Blanc-Vallon woman before her. By the age of ten, Veralidaine was known to all by her assurity of bearing and quickness of wit. Her unfortunate colouring never lightened, and she did not deign to don a _capuchin_ to disguise her elfin curls. In vain did the local paragons of modesty urge her mother to intervene; the midwife claimed as little control over her daughter as she had her own passions eleven years before. The child, for her part, seemed more content to associate herself with pigs than with persons.

Events might have progressed in the same deplorable manner, had not circumstances intervened. Veralidaine's education in womanly conduct had barely commenced before a deserting force from the unfortunate conflict passed through the unremarkable town, and in their brutish hunger erased physically that which words had already forgot.

Veralidaine, at the age of thirteen, found herself alone.

Such gainful employment as is accorded to the fairer sex being inconceivable to her, Veralidaine considered her options as follows. She might not teach or nurture, for her moral standing as a natural child was surpassed only by her deplorable country mannerisms. No serving position would take her, nor would she accept a position where even her detested surname would become inconsequential. Pondering these matters, she chanced upon a position with the post, and, tucking her hair into a boy's cap, proceeded to courier after a rickety coach-and-four. Long weeks spent balancing on the freezing ledge at the rear of the vehicle soon grew unbearable, however, and she was at the point of quitting this position when the coach-and-four collided with a fallen yew. Straps were cut away, oaths were made, and the whole procession abandoned the fallen beast as a lamentable coach-and-three.

Veralidaine alighted at this junction and was not missed. She did not believe the horse's condition to be as mortal as her driver insisted. Indeed, the beast had sprained its fore-shoulder, and the limb dragged painfully against the king's road, but three legs, she reasoned, still made a marked improvement on her two.

Accompanied by the placid creature, she made her way from the road and made herself a camp. The child was, we must understand, accustomed to abiding in the woods. Such a vagrant of nature can endure without hearth and candle, and so these narrated circumstances should not cause the reader distress. On the contrary, having made her fire and fixed her eye on a dry bank, the young lady saw herself as more content than any lady at her leisure. She slept easily and deeply, and for many days lived well from the land and nearby stream until the horse was nearly healed.

On the ninth day she had occasion to pause, for she heard a great uproar in her own copse of trees. Fearing more men like those who had butchered Blanc-Vallon, she concealed herself in the branches of a pine tree, and from there witnessed an awful vision. The trees were quite red with blood, and amongst the dark reaches of their branches shrieked a demon of feather and claw. As it recoiled she espied other creatures, smaller and more vicious, whose bright beaks drew pain which was not the demand of hunger or territory, but of sadistic violence. With a cry, the girl broke the sharp cones from her tree, and hurled them at the unsuspecting smaller creatures, striking their skulls and sending them to the cold stone below.

Collecting her courage, she descended to the ground and saw that the dead creatures had beaks and claws of silver, as if they had been birthed on a forge. Taking out her hunting knife, she smartly seperated these remnants from their bodies, and secreted the valuable metal about her person. Only when this task was completed did she realise that she was being watched.

Great alarm made her exclaim, but she said only, "Sir, you should have announced yourself."

The man - for it was a man - thus addressed looked archly, but his voice was no less guarded. "I have been here as long as you have, if not longer. I saw you jump down from the tree." Seeing her face flush with blood, he laughed and added, "In truth, I wondered if you were of the tree, and not just from it. You have the look of the fae about you."

"No more than do you," she was quick to return, for he too had the thin, dark look she had been marked with since childhood, "And I am mortal enough, sir."

The man made a bow, apologetic and courteous, and sat himself down upon a fallen trunk. Regarding the fallen creatures at his feet, he proceeded to thank the girl for her part in saving his life. Veralidaine knew not how to reply, for in truth she did not recognise the man's part in the conflict, until he held out one hand and caused it to shiver with dark plumes. She cried out and stepped back apace, for although she knew of the existance of mages, there had been none in Blanc-Vallon who could command their very limbs to change. Seeing her fear, the man withdrew his hand, and confessed that he was weary. Waiting for her hesitant invitation, he made himself comfortable by the embers of her fire, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The gentleman soon proved himself to be possessed not only of the gift, but with a remarkable capacity to slumber through both rain and chill. The girl secreted the observation that his magic must surely be less than his ability to snore, which habit's resplendent resonation quite terrified the animals of the woodland from their clearing. Content to leave the mage to the horse's gentle care while she fished, she observed from afar that he was of goodly disposition, and not at all unpleasant to behold. Surely his countenance upon waking would be amiable, or else he could not have used his magic so openly without reproof.

"You must take me with you," She declared with bold decision, when he finally awoke. "I do not care if your magic is of the gods or of chaos, for either way you must honour your debt to me."

He stared at her, and conceded, "Yes, you did save my life."

"I did, and I will do so again as often as you need, only you must take me with you when you leave this place."

"Why," he asked her, with blunt challenge but no scorn, "Would I welcome the company of a child?"

She did not know, and so remained silent, but he presently observed, "If you are only a child then that is good, for it will not hurt your reputation to be seen with me."

"And what of your own?"

"I have no reputation." - and he smiled wolfishly at her horror - "If that fact dismays you more than you fear my magic, then it would be better that we part company."

"I am not dismayed. I need you." She returned, and beckoned the horse to her with a single word. "I have only Cloud in my possession, and I fear people with think she is stolen."

"Is she?"

"She is not." The girl responded with some fire in her voice. "But no-one will listen to a child."

The man sighed and nodded his understanding, for like the child he knew too well the strength of a vicious tongue. "I cannot leave you here, even if you wished to stay." He said, finally rising to his feet. "And even if you had not saved my life, it is not in my nature to turn away from those in need."

"I am not so pitiable." She told him, irritated, "We walk as equals, not as debtors. If I had turned away from you I would now be begging alms from your corpse."

He laughed and bowed. "My name is Numair Salmalin."

"Veralidaine. Daine." The girl curtseyed, and closed her lips lest they betray her base surname. For all her careful friendship towards the man, she saw the mark of nobility in his soft hands and fluent voice. Such a man would not suffer the indignity of a natural born companion beyond his debt, however little reputation he laid claim to.

888

Numair Salmalin was not quite a libertine, nor was he a courtier, but his character was such that he had, on occassion, been mistaken for both. He attended upon the royal person with genuine loyalty, but with such irregularity that his patriotism might be taken for indifference. His costume, too, was spendid in both embroidery and fabric, but often made up in fashions two or even three months behind the privy court.

With the steadying hand of a wife this flaw might have met a speedy correction, but he showed the same idle penchant for womanising of his libertine compatriots, and in that respect was quite notorious. Nor did these women consider themselves unfortunate to be raised before his regard and summarily dismissed; he was too fickle to keep a mistress in the comfort she expected, and too constant to promise a wife the liberties she deserved. He had no children, or else he knew not that secret which guilty wives kept from their husbands, and enjoyed the privacy of being the sole beneficiary of his estate.

When he was not in either palace or his own domain, he was neither courtier nor landowner, but something quite removed. It was this removal which led him to encounter the midwife's daughter. Upon their departure from Gallé he entreated her to remain silent, and on their arrival in Corus he urged her not to confide in any who was beyond his circle.

"We shall say you are my student," He advised. "It is true enough now, and it does not matter how we met."

"I will not tell falsehoods," She warned him, for her childhood had taught her to dislike forked tongues. He sighed, and bid her to simply be silent until he introduced her to his confidante. It was with doubtful trust that she agreed.

Their clothes were quite marked by the road, and for the first night they remained in an inn removed from the city by some miles. Upon the rising of the sun, they made their way into the city where Numair declared his intention to purchase clothes. Expecting the familiar trade of the marketplace, Daine was quite dismayed to be shown into a tailor's shop. Her own person was welcomed with outright disgust, but upon perceiving her companion, the goodly vendor proceeded to produce fine fabrics and measure both customers from head to foot. Daine's protestations were somewhat mollified by the mage's assurance that it was necessary to meet his confidante, who would gladly pay the balance on his own account. Thus comforted, she suffered her own measurements in silence.

What a transformation Veralidaine beheld in the glass that afternoon! The powdered wig of starched white hair was quite enough to soothe every remark on her dark colouration, and her colourless eyes looked blue beneath it. Gone too was the boyish garment she had donned for her courier work; the dresser had foregone the tighter corsets, but even the loose bones of her undergarment gave her figure a shape which the most buxom women of Blanc-Vallon would have envied. There had been no time to embroider a panel or underdress, but the dressmaker's deft hands had added starched lace to anything which might be considered plain, and the skirt fell to the ground in not one, not two, but three tucked gathers. Veralidaine had only ever beheld her reflection in deep water, and so she believed that some magic must have occurred to make her appear as an adult woman, where before she had barely passed for a juvenile boy. Numair, however, did not seem astonished.

"You do not look like yourself," He agreed, finally surrendering to her accusations, "But you are not enchanted; you do not look like anyone else."

"You must warn me if I will turn back at midnight," The girl replied with some anxiety. Her companion was well used to her changeability by now, and smiled gently at her.

"I am not your fairy godmother, Daine."

"No, you did not even pay the bill." She laughed at his sudden alteration, for it was only now that she could truly take in the splendour of his own wig, embroidered waistcoat and walking cane. If her transformation was from a fairy godmother, his must be from an oriental djinn. She had never seen anyone wear so many ornaments before, and believed it looked quite ridiculous. Suffering her laughter only until they left the street, Numair strode ahead and summoned a carriage in a voice which quite equalled his pompous bearing. It was not until the vehicle brought them to a stop that she could raise her head and dispel tears of mirth from her eyes.

She did not recognise the building, which was made of stone, and she was too naive to tell the difference between slate and marble in this city of cold homes and empty windows. Numair took her arm before her skirts made her fall from their comveyance, and then took out his handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Daine protested at the touch, upon which remonstration he immediately released the fabric into her hold.

"The paint the dresser used has smudged your eyes. You cannot enter the court so." He was still a little distant, for the tears had been shed at his pride's expense. Any mirth remaining in the girl's heart was quickly extinguished, and seeing her sudden upset the man apologised for his coldness and bid her keep his handkerchief. Daine tucked it into her bodice over her heart, and thus fortified followed him into the building she now knew to be the palace.

They were bowed through more doorways and anterooms than there had been roof tiles in Daine's home, and when they were finally admitted into that most gracious presence she nearly walked straight past him. The room in which his majesty found himself appeared so much like an antechamber that she thought him to be just another liveried servant. Numair caught her elbow as she started towards the next door, and when she made her clumsy bow Daine straightened auite prepared to glare at him. When she saw the king she opened her mouth to demand how a liveried man had the coin to buy silk dresses. Then she espied the woman, and found herself at a loss for words. Where his majesty looked like any wealthy merchant, the queen radiated a splendour f\r beyond mortal beauty. Her dress was a bold scarlet, matching the striking contrast of her complexion, and the black embroidery upon it made her eyes fine and lustrous in the light from the wide windows. The finery could not dispel the anxious glace she wore, however, and directing it towards her husband she was most attentive to the visitor's words.

"He styles himself an emperor now, does he?" The king was saying, after a hushed exchange. Numair made a terse obeisance, and added that the emperor had somehow gained the ability to summon creatures never before seen.

"It is quite extraordinary, and I would not give it credit if I heard it from anyone else." His majesty exclaimed. The mage bowed.

"I did not see it alone; this child witnessed everything I have related, and comes before you to confirm my tale." He gestured to Daine, who made a determined attempt to hide behind a harpsichord. At this sight the woman started forward, and looking most severely upon the gentlemen, declared that she and the girl would retire for an hour before a single word crossed her lips.

"Thank you, but I am quite content," Daine ventured, finding her voice in the wake of such consternation. "I am not overwhelmed, and all I have to say is that he is telling the truth."

"Is he?" The king pursued, searching her eyes for assurance as if he wished for quite the reverse. Daine curtseyed, at which agreement she heard a most royal sigh.

"As for the emperor I cannot say." She spoke bitterly, wishing to be the bearer of more than bad news. "His men deserted and burned my town to the ground, and that is all I know of him. Doubtless he did not even know my town existed, nor even that it no longer stands." And then she found that she was weeping: great, copious tears which smudged her eyes far beyond the repair of a simple handkerchief and made stains upon the palms of her hands.

Blanc-Vellon had longed to be nameless. Now it would bear that scar forever.

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	20. 19: Orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people have requested stories set in the Scanran War of the fighting that took place, and the way that people perceive Daine and Numair when they don't know them very well. I think I'll write a few of these - thank you to Guest for the prompt!
> 
> Also, thanks for your honest critiques of the last chapter. Very helpful! 
> 
> Keep the requests coming!

The famed wildmage, Mistress Veralidaine Sarrasri, was very good at sulking. That was the first clear thought in Pumpkin's mind, after the nervous fog had cleared. He looked at her, taking in her childlike size and terrifying sharp grey glare, and thought: she's sulking.

It made her seem human, somehow, although of course she wasn't. Not quite. She looked like a woman in her twenties, with sunburned skin and an archer's muscular build, but it was all an illusion. Pumpkin knew he was not the only man in the archer troupe to be thinking that. They all stared at her with open curiosity. In the barracks Captain Flint had given them orders to accompany her on this mission, and for a few hours all you could hear were the stories. They wanted her to have cat ears or a tail, and many of them were obviously disappointed that she looked perfectly normal.

Well, normal enough to sulk.

"I don't need you to come along," she told them, tersely checking the tension of her strung bow. As one the troupe bristled, but she didn't seem to notice their offense. Not making eye contact, she shouldered the weapon and added, "But orders are orders, and I wouldn't dare contradict one of my wise and noble superiors... however idiotic I know they're being."

Sarcasm was thick in her voice, and any of the men who hadn't already felt slighted by this... this girl... scowled at her. Pumpkin scratched his eyebrow and started walking, following the wild mage's light steps. Unlike her, they were dressed in light armour which clanked softly in the misty morning. The damp weather absorbed the sound and threw it back, making ten men sound like fifty. Mistress Sarrasri had made no noise at all, and they had to hurry after her before they lost her in the dim light.

Pumpkin was a short man, and although he was not as round as his nickname suggested his face had a lunar plumpness and an unfortunate habit of flushing red when he exercised. He did not mind his nickname, but he was rather vain about his looks. When he joined the Conte Archers he had grown and trimmed a beard into a point under his dumpy chin. He thought it would thin his face and make him dashing. His fellow recruits had christened it the 'leaf'. He wasn't quick enough to return their teasing, and so he had sulked until they grew bored. The name, and his skill at pouting, had lingered. Now, two years later, he recognised a master sulker when he saw one.

The wild mage stalked ahead, managing to leave no prints in the damp ground even though her chin was stubbornly high. She did not look back for miles, assuming that the trained soldiers would keep up with her. As a guide she was both brilliant and terrible. Her trail led them around the Scanran camps easily, and they never saw a single hostile immortal. However, she did not bother to direct the men, and sometimes chose routes where they had to ford streams or clamber across rockfalls - easy enough for her in her huntress garb, but wearying for the armoured soldiers. When she finally held up her hand for them to stop the men were all sheened with sweat. She looked at them rather narrowly.

"I'm sorry," she said, unexpectedly. The men recoiled in surprise and she shrugged. "I forgot you're new to this territory. I've been scouting it for weeks."

Flint cleared his throat. "We've been posted here for a month, miss."

"Really?" She gaped at him, and then blushed at her own rudeness and looked away. The men rolled their eyes and sat down, taking out trail rations and packs of cards. They had a few hours to wait, now that Mistress Sarrasri had led them to their remote position. Pumpkin sat in a loud group who were arguing over the aces in Brag, and lost himself in his disappointment.

The legendary wildmage, he thought, was nothing like the stories. She was a girl who seemed utterly out of place among soldiers. She spoke like a civilian and dressed like a poacher. He had expected nobility, or pride. He had seen the Lioness once, roaring at her troops until they burned with the fire of battle. Her red hair had caught the sunlight, and her violet eyes had screamed from her face like the wrath of the gods. She was a legend, and she did not disappoint. The wildmage, he told himself bitterly, was just a story to tell children.

The girl sat apart from the men, kicking her hanging legs idly from a shelf of limestone. Pumpkin felt suddenly awkward. He wondered if he should join her, or at least say a single word to draw her into the company. If she had met his eyes he would have tried, but she didn't. She gazed out across the valley they had climbed, hands cupped around one knee, face slack and distant. It didn't seem to register with her that she was alone.

"Would you like a sandwich?" Pumpkin asked her, finally raising the courage to walk over. She blinked a few times, and her empty eyes filled with bright focus as she looked at him.

"Sorry?"

He held the food out mutely. She smiled her thanks and unwrapped it, taking a hungry bite.

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you." She mumbled with her mouth full, "I was talking to Inva. Hearing two voices at once is... it's strange."

"Who's Inva? Miss." He added, belatedly remembering that she was his superior officer's superior officer. The girl flashed him a genuine smile and pointed far into the distance.

"She's a kestrel - see her? She's keeping me updated on who's doing what down there. There's no point launching a surprise attack if they've moved to another valley, after all."

Pumpkin squinted. If he shielded his eyes he could see a small speck in the misty sky, but it might have been a cloud for all he could tell. Even if he raised his voice and yelled out he doubted the speck would have been able to hear him. He looked at the girl, half incredulous, half respectful. As if she knew his thoughts she avoided his gaze and took another bite out of her sandwich.

They moved again at sunset, using the setting sun to find the western side of the Scanran camp. This time the girl moved more slowly, checking back from time to time to see if her companions were following in the dark. Many of the men cried out in alarm when, with a shriek, a great black shadow swooped down on them. The wild mage snapped out her first order: don't fire!

Pumpkin watched as she held out her arm and the shadow thudded into her shoulder. It was a bird. For the first time, he noticed that the girl had a hardy leather guard on her left arm and shoulder, where the bird's sharp claws might dig into tender flesh. It seemed gentle enough, though. It only stayed for a moment, briefly nestling against the girl's shoulder, and she smiled and touched its head before it flew away.

"Inva?" Pumpkin heard himself asking while he withered under the stares of the men. The girl nodded and spoke to Flint as well when she explained about the bird's scouting.

"But it's dark now, and she's not a night flyer." She finished. After that comment, it didn't horrify the men as much when an enormous barn owl thudded silently onto her shoulder. Mistress Sarrasri greeted it with quiet delight and then sent it on its way. "We're close. The others are waiting for us to make the first move." She said in a suddenly serious voice. "We'll get as close as we can and use our ambush to take out as many as possible before they realise something's wrong. Don't let them scream."

Pumpkin hid a shiver, and saw that several of the men saluted the girl with newfound respect as she led them onwards. Her carelessness that morning paled in their minds as they understood that she had been using the animals to intricately map out the area. The ruthlessness in her words - and the unflinching deadly command in the last four words - made them grin and start checking their bows.

They climbed to the side of a ridge and then helped each other to scale the sheer rock wall. The wild mage started using hand signs instead of words, gesturing for them to crawl across the top of the rocks and ready their arrows. With the grim focus of imminent death, every man obeyed her.

The first twenty men fell silently, or as silently as death would allow. Certainly the people gathered on the rock face could not hear the sounds of choking as the arrows cut off their air, nor the rattle as blood poured from their convulsing flesh. They shot cleanly and notched a second round of arrows neatly, if a little hastily. Their second volley made a few heads turn suspiciously, and the third raised the alarm. As their cries echoed in the still night air the southern ridge lit up with flares of magic and the reflection of their fire on bright steel armour. In a roaring wave, like the remorseless tide, the infantry surged into the camp.

"Follow me!" The wildmage scrambled to her feet and they started slithering down the rocks, knowing their vantage point could easily turn into a target. They ran into the woods and caught their breath.

"You all shoot so well," Mistress Sarrasri gasped. "Is that why you were assigned to me?"

"No, we..." Flint started, and then flushed and doubled over, pretending to catch his breath. It was too late - the girl had noticed, and when he straightened up he knew by her folded arms that he must answer. "We were told to guard you while you scouted, and follow your orders... of course."

"I don't need a guard." She said icily, and a haughty stiffness crept into her posture. "I got orders that since I was scouting anyway, it would be easy enough to lead you to a good vantage point. I didn't ask for a guard. I wouldn't bother. Someone's sticking their nose in where it's not wanted." She shouldered her bow and stared back around the base of the ridge, towards a second vantage point. Seeing her furious expression and thunderous footsteps Pumpkin pitied the first Scanran she met.

They circled the encampment, taking up several positions and then slipping away before the Scanrans could work out where the arrows were coming from. It didn't help the Scanrans that their bowstrings, halters and even shoelaces were suddenly frayed to shreds, and the horses seemed too skittish for the cavalry to even saddle. Several men were tripped up by the camp's dogs and fell sprawling into the mud, to suffer bites, clawing or - as a final humiliation - a well-aimed cocked leg and a soaked helmet. Pumpkin found himself pitying them a little, but mostly he was relieved that the wildmage was on their side. Even her owl was cheerfully swooping down on unsuspecting men like a deadly phantom.

At their sixth posting the girl stumbled and caught herself against a tree. Pumpkin noticed that in the light of the burning tents she looked pale and tired, although she quickly collected herself. After they released a fresh volley of arrows she led them back down into the woods and then gasped, drawing herself back from the trail hurriedly.

"They've cut us off." She whispered to herself, and then beckoned Flint closer. "Captain, we're trapped. Ten men - and it's the only trail."

"Only ten?" Flint grinned and signalled to the men. "We can help out after all, then, Miss."

"I don't need protecting." She reminded him, looking mulish, "Normally I would just fly away."

Flint grinned again, wolfishly, and led half of his troop into the woods. There were the sounds of a brief scuffle, as the approaching Scanrans had not realised that the Tortallans knew where they were. Taken by surprise, they died quickly. Flint was about to return his men to the trail when he heard the rustle of disturbed branches, and signalled for Pumpkin and another man to scout a little ahead. When they returned, their faces were pale and they signalled that they should return to the clearing.

"We're surrounded, and there are a lot of them." Flint explained rapidly to the wild mage. "I think they're retreating towards us."

"If it's the retreat then the others will try to stop them," The girl said, but she looked grim as she checked her quiver. There weren't many arrows left. Most of the archers had nearly run out. They shrank back into the trees, finding defendable positions and checking their daggers were ready to be drawn. Flint and Pumpkin stayed near the girl, who for once didn't scowl at them.

"You could shapeshift," Pumpkin suggested in a low voice, thinking that if he was going to die then at least he would see that marvel first. Mistress Sarrasri shook her head.

"I'm too tired. I'd fall out of the sky. And besides..." She looked around at the men and bit her lip. "I would never run away and leave you all here."

Flint patted her shoulder in a soldierly way, and she smiled and gripped his arm briefly. Then they both crouched down, notched their bows, and focused on the trail. The sounds of the approaching army got louder, and the trees were silhouetted as torches lit up the trails. Listening to the hudreds of footsteps, they knew they would be outnumbered. Pumpkin gulped and wished his feet weren't so wet and muddy. He didn't want to have cold feet when he died.

A loud explosion tore through the air, lighting up the sky. The men cried out and covered their heads with their hands, but the wild mage leapt to her feet and stared anxiously into the distance. While the others waited with racing heartbeats for the next cataclysm to hit, she bit her lip and her hands clenched at her sides.

A second explosion rang out, and the misty air was shredded with a rainbow of flames and smoke and arrows and magic. The trees were ripped from the ground, and a large crack ran through the mud and snaked towards them. The girl cried out and stepped back, but as soon as it reached her feet the earthquake stopped. Seizing Flint's wrist, she pressed his hand to the ground before another crack and saw that the horrendous force stopped for him, too.

"It's alright!" She cried, raising the captain to his feet. Unbelievably she was beaming, and she looked almost manic in the war light. The archer stared at her and she tried to look more serious. "It's alright, it won't hurt you. Come on, it's time to go!"

"Towards the _explosions?"_ Flint yelled back. She planted her hands on her hips.

"Of _course_ towards the explosions!"

"We're supposed to protect you!" He returned, catching her elbow fiercely. "And it's insane to..."

"Ugh!" She went still for a second, and then something about her seemed to unfocus. Flint cried out, his fist closing around a suddenly empty sleeve, and then the wild mage stepped back and she had two arms again. Not waiting to see the captain's slack-mouthed horror, she turned on her heel and started to run towards the camp.

"Unbelievable." Flint muttered, staring at his fingers as if the fighting had stopped altogether. "She runs straight into the explosions. Of course she does."

They reached the camp when the fighting was nearly finished, and apart from a few skirmishes they made good time. Still, it took them precious minutes to find the girl. When they finally saw her she was being held tightly by a shadowed figure. It looked human in size, but in the dark night it moved and shifted so that it was almost invisible unless you knew where to look. Anyone - even an experienced scout - could easily be seized as they passed the shadows. Flint cried out an order, and the entire troop notched their bows.

"Don't fire!" The girl shouted, and covered her face with her free hand. Her shoulders shook, and the figure looming over her laughed. Flint hesitated, but did not let the men lower their bows.

"Unhand her," He ordered. "Or we will fire."

The figure stopped laughing with an effort."She told you not to."

"Hostages will say anything." Flint sounded like his teeth were gritted. The tall figure drew in a breath, sounding appalled as he looked down at the girl.

"Hostage?"

"You're still wearing a cloaking spell, love." She informed him. The figure muttered something under his breath, waved a hand, and then seemed to shimmer. The darkness that had cloaked him drained away into the ground, and revealed a thin human shape. Flint winced in recognition, much to the amusement of his men, and bowed respectfully.

"Master Salmalin,"

"Captain Flint," The mage returned the bow, and then noticed that the wildmage was watching him incredulously. "What?"

"You know who he is?"

"Of course!" The man said rather flippantly, and then turned to the troop of breathless, rather irritated archers. "Did you run away again, Daine? Captain, I do apologise. If it's any consolation, you've done a lot better than the last three groups. The first lot lost her in under an hour. It was after she got distracted by... what was it, magelet? A bear?"

"Fox." She looked dazed. "It told me there was an ambush, so I... Numair." She stamped her foot like an angry pony. "You've been keeping track of me?"

"I don't have your birds, so I resort to talking to humans." Pumpkin was impressed by how dry the man's acerbic retort sounded. The girl looked far less amused, folding her arms and scowling up at the mage as if he hadn't just flattened half a forest with two bursts of magic.

"Those ultra-important really-secret orders which these men have been following," she said with baited impatience, "Came from you, didn't they?"

"No." he replied far too quickly. The girl's eyes narrowed. Shouldering her bow, she stalked away from him and this time she didn't just leave footprints, she splatted through the mud violently enough to send it splashing onto Master Salmalin's breeches. He pulled a long-suffering face at her back, which she didn't see, but Pumpkin hid a smile.

"Captain Flint," she said, "We need to start a sweep of the surrounding woods. I'm sure there are some soldiers out there just itching for revenge. I'll call an owl or a bat for every... every two of your men, and we'll work out a system. It should only take a few hours, with your men's assistance."

"Yes, miss." He saluted, hiding a smile, and began sorting the men into pairs. The wildmage closed her eyes for a moment, and the sky was suddenly dark with night creatures. They perched on fallen tents and rickety weapon stands, hovering high above and gripping her sleeves and hair.

"Report to your bird or bat, and they'll bring messages back to me." She told the men. "If you need help I'll send the rest of the birds to you sharpish. They'll fight, but in return if any of them get hurt you must carry them back to camp so I can heal them. The captain and I will find the maps in their general's tent and copy down anything you find that's worth knowing." Looking around at Master Salmalin with a scathing challenge in her eye, she raised her voice and announced to the archers, "Since we've been thrown together, we might as well make the most of it."

Looking at her, facing down the black mage with barely restrained fury in her eyes, Pumpkin suddenly saw the wildmage from the legends. She was still small, and young, and dressed like a civilian, but she held herself with arch confidence that knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of.

The birds and bats surrounded her in a swarm of black eyes and sharp beaks, rustling and grumbling in the cold air and following her every move. With a single command she could have made them attack, and in a shriek of fury and feathers her command would be the final words her victim ever heard. She was strong, and fearless in her strength. Pumpkin understood that she was doing it on purpose, trying to prove something to the man who looked back at her with steady eyes. For a moment they all waited, almost holding their breath as if a single sneeze would send those birds screaming into flight.

Then, almost imperceptably, the man lowered his head and smiled. That was all he did - half a nod, and half a smile - but the girl instantly relaxed. A thousand words seemed to have been shouted between them, and yet there was nothing but silence.


End file.
